


Don't Let Me Go

by madmalina



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angry Erik, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Bullying, Calm Down Erik, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Erik-centric, First Time, Homophobia, Hurt Charles, M/M, Outing, Pining, Poor Charles, Poor Erik, Regret, Roommates, Secret Relationship, several of them - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-01-17 05:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 63,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12358482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmalina/pseuds/madmalina
Summary: When Erik arrives at school for his final year, he expects it to be just as miserable as the ones before.But he hasn't counted on his new roommate—someone who is incredibly smart, graciously kind, and who has just about the most perfect blue eyes Erik has ever seen...Loosely based on the movie 'Handsome Devil'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends,  
> finally, my third fic! Hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> Updates will be weekly.
> 
> Biiiig thanks to my lovely beta, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!
> 
> Also biiig thanks to the lovely [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl/works) for her amazing [cover art!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963765)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, apparently I'm an idiot.  
> By mistake I uploaded chapter eleven instead of just saving it, and in my panic I tried to delete it again and ended up deleting chapter one instead, including all of your lovely comments. :(((( I could hit myself.  
> It's up again now, but apologies to everyone who thought there was a new chapter, when there really wasn't.

Erik hates the first week of September. He fucking hates it.

If it were up to him the summer holidays would go on forever, and there would be no going back to this hellhole of a school. But although Erik is 18 and therefore  he doesn’t  _ technically _ have to go to school anymore, it would be rude of him, considering everything his mother went through regarding his behaviour, if he left school now without finishing his A-levels . And there’s also one other thing that keeps him going and stops him from locking himself in his room and refusing to leave, and that is the fact that this is his last year. 

Only one more year of enduring all those shallow idiots and fucking dickheads whose entire self-esteem seems to be based solely on their own and everyone else’s perception of their masculinity. One more year, and he’ll  _ finally _ be free.

Erik’s mother knows he’s not happy, and he knows this makes her feel terrible, which in turn makes everything ten times worse for him. He doesn’t blame her either. She didn’t have any other options after he’d been expelled from three schools in their area and all the others refused to take him. He’s been out of control and he knows it. His father’s death and all the injustice following it made him do it. If he could turn back time now and control himself back then he’d do it, but obviously he can’t. And so, his mother had no choice but to accept when her employer offered to try and get Erik a place at the school headed by his British wife’s brother. 

Boarding school. In England. When Erik first heard about it he couldn’t believe his ears. He was going to leave his little German home town and head for the countryside around Bournemouth. Him. In boarding school. Surrounded by pampered posh boys.

It’s no longer unbelievable to him. Erik has been at the school for three years. He got his GCSEs there, and his AS levels the previous year. He got used to all the traditions and idiotic customs, to their school uniform with the blue and red tie, to sporting events where attendance is compulsory even if one loathes any kind of sport, like Erik. But that doesn’t mean he likes it. Or them. 

Erik sometimes feels so out of place, he thinks about just running away. He’s just different, in almost every way possible. He’s German, for one—a foreigner. When he first arrived three years ago his English was diabolical, so obviously that made him an easy target, and the idiots at his school have amused themselves more than once by calling him ‘Nazi’—completely ignoring the fact that his whole family is Jewish, and that half of his great-grandparents were murdered during the Holocaust. But why should he even assume they have any idea what they’re talking about? It’s actually quite ironic too, considering these boys feel so at home in an all-white, all-male environment, boast loudly about the fact they don’t think women exist for any other reason than sex and housework, and have a huge problem with anyone who doesn’t fit their elitist idea of a worthy person. Fucking ironic.

Erik’s also far from rich, and can only attend a school that costs £25,000 annually because his mother’s employer felt charitable for a moment when he’d heard about his fate. The other boys all appear to live in mansions, playing golf all day, while their butlers offer them a glass of cold lemonade and then wipe their arses for them. Fucking snobs.

Erik’s worst crime, however, is not being into football. Football is  _ everything _ . Any boy at his school is defined by what club he supports, how long he’s been playing, and what kind of cups he’s won with his team. If you don’t even know any teams by name, well...you’re pretty much fucked. Erik learnt as much the first day he arrived at St. John’s. 

He was still surprised though that apparently any boy who doesn’t like football is automatically gay in their eyes. Erik himself would have never made the connection between the two, but he’s been a ‘homo’, a ‘queer fucker’ and a ‘poof’ ever since his first day. 

Erik doesn’t even bother to contradict them, even though he isn’t actually gay. True, apart from all the girls he’s had a crush on and the filthy magazine of naked girls under his mattress, he once felt attracted to a boy in his class in Germany, when he was about 14. Nothing came out of it though, and only shortly afterwards his father died. Consequently Erik hasn’t really had a big crush on anyone since then. Erik’s not too bothered by the whole ‘gay’ thing—he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay, he knows what it’s like to be different, and he loathes those people who try to be someone else constantly in order to conform to standards society has thought up for no reason. 

The only thing that annoys Erik about the whole affair is the fact that  _ everyone _ at his school seems to care so much about it. It’s as though being gay is the ultimate crime, or maybe like an extremely contagious disease that all the boys are terrified of catching. And once you’re marked as gay there’s no way of getting away from it—nobody dares touch you anymore as though spending time with a gay boy could automatically make you gay too. It’s so bad that even the small group of geeks are terrified of being seen with him. Being a geek at Erik’s school is bad enough, but you can do your best to be invisible and not become a target, being mates with the school’s poof (that’s Erik— _ yay! _ ), however, would definitely change that. So even those guys who are considered to be the most unpopular people in the school have told Erik in a whisper that they don’t want him to join their chess and discussion group. It’s a shame. They’re people that Erik, with his love for chess and technical stuff, could have easily become friends with.

The previous year, during the first half of sixth form, Erik had his own room for the first time. When the number of students turned out to be odd that year, nobody wanted to share a room with Erik, and that was how he ended up alone. It vastly improved his life quality at St. John’s to be able to spend time in his own room for once, and not be forced to hide away all day until it was safe to sneak into bed. He half expects it to be the same this year —he doesn’t really think that anyone has left the school, so there should still be the same number of students. And there’s no way the other students’ attitudes towards him will have changed. However, when he arrives at the school after an exhausting ten-hour journey of travelling by train, plane, and then coach, he checks the room list, and sees at once that there are no single rooms at all for the students in his year. Well,  _ fuck. _

It takes him a moment to find his own name on the list. He’s in the same room as last year, and he’s sharing with...Charles Xavier.  _ Who the fuck is Charles Xavier? _

It sucks. Erik hates having a roommate, and he wasn’t counting on this, but he’s never heard the name before. This Xavier boy must be new, which would explain why the number of students is suddenly even and also why they paired him with Erik, because if Xavier is new he doesn’t know anything about Erik, so therefore he’ll be the least likely to complain about the arrangement. At lease to begin with.... Then again, if he’s completely new then there’s the tiniest chance that he won’t be as bad as everyone else. 

Erik quickly checks the student list displaying the courses everyone takes as well as the clubs or teams they’ve signed up for. Of course Charles Xavier is almost at the very bottom of the list. Erik traces his finger along the line. Xavier takes Applied Science, Biology, Statistics and— _ for fuck’s sake _ —Sport and P.E.

A fucking athlete then. The very worst kind. He could be the embodiment of Erik’s worst nightmare of a roommate if he also, on top of everything... _ shit. _ Of course he’s signed up for the fucking  _ football _ team. 

Erik groans internally. What has he done to deserve this?

He has half a mind to run to Mr. Hughes, their headmaster, and insist upon getting his own room again. Insist that Xavier be placed in an empty room as well, or be paired with someone else. Anyone. Anything. But he knows it’s no good. There’s no way he’ll get a single room if there’s an even number of students there—that would be  _ favouritism _ after all—and that isn’t something that happens in this school. Of course not. Well, at least they won’t be in any courses together.

Students begin to sweep past Erik. No doubt all the posh parents in their posh cars are dropping off their precious sons right now. Erik picks up his bag and makes for the stairs. If he stays in his room until dinner maybe he can avoid meeting any of the worst idiots and bullies. Hell, if he can avoid crossing paths with _ Shaw _ before dinner, he’ll even put up with his fucking football player roommate until then.

However, when Erik gets to his room it’s still completely empty. There are two beds, two desks, and two wardrobes—each on opposite sides of the room. Erik hesitates for a moment, then turns to the left side, choosing the bed below the window. If Xavier has a problem he’ll just  have to fight Erik for it when he arrives.

Erik takes his time sorting his clothes into his wardrobe and making his bed, waiting for the newcomer to arrive. Next he hangs up his posters, arranges the photographs of his parents, and then texts his mother to tell her he arrived safely. He doesn’t exactly fancy being surprised in his underwear, so he puts off changing into his school uniform until the very last moment. But when the bell rings for dinner, his bloody roommate still hasn’t arrived.

Cursing under his breath, Erik changes quickly, struggling, as usual, with his idiotic looking blue-and-red striped tie. When he gets out into the corridor he watches out for an unknown face, a new boy with a bag, but there are none. With a sigh, Erik proceeds to the dining hall.

He spots Shaw at a table on the left side of the room, deep in discussion with the rest of the idiots from the football team, so he turns right, choosing a seat at the very edge of a table, not too close to anyone. Nobody takes any notice of him, which is a far better outcome than expected. They’re all eating already, the tables laden with food, and Erik only notices now how hungry he is. He hasn’t had more than a sandwich since he left home earlier that morning. And it smells good. That’s one of the few good things to be said about St. John’s—the food is really good.

Erik scoffs three helpings of chicken, green beans, and roast potatoes with gravy until he’s full to the brim and unsure whether he may not have overextended himself a little bit. He gets up to leave, but before he can take the first step he spots Shaw standing right at the door. Well, no fucking way is Erik walking past that dick if he can avoid it. He sits back down again, stealing half-hidden glances at the door, wanting to make sure his number one tormenter has left before he deems it safe to leave.

Shaw isn’t alone. A number of boys, all from the football team, are standing behind him. He’s talking to Mr. Hughes who’s basically standing in the door frame, blocking the way for everyone. That’s unusual. Mr. Hughes rarely enters the dining hall at all. There are two other adults too. A haughty-looking middle-aged blonde woman and a broad guy with a red face and a neck like a bull’s. Mr. Hughes gestures another boy forward who’d been half-hidden behind the broad man. Shaw and the boy shake hands. Then the new boy shakes hands with all the other football players. He’s carrying a large duffle bag. Well fuck. If that’s not Charles Xavier.

After a few more minutes they all leave together, Mr. Hughes gesticulating wildly, probably in an effort to impress the new kids’ parents. Erik waits another few minutes before he gets up and makes his way back to his room too.

He can hear their voices from afar. These fuckers are all in his room, talking, laughing, and bellowing like gorillas. It looks as though Xavier won’t be the only one he’ll have to put up with from now on. And he can hear fucking Sebastian Shaw’s voice over all the others. Well, of course—he’s the football team’s captain, and he thinks he owns the whole fucking team for it.

Erik waits, uncertain, for a moment outside the door, but then he takes a deep breath and enters. Fuck them—it’s his room, and he’s got a bloody right to be inside it.

The boys pay no attention to Erik at first, and so he walks, unchallenged, to his bed and sits down on it, picking up a book and pretending to read, hiding his face.

“We’re so gonna win that cup this year,” says one of Shaw’s cronies (Erik doesn’t even know his name) gleefully. “The others haven’t got a pig in hell’s chance.”

“Yes!” bellows Andy Roberts. He’s one of the dumbest of them all, and one of the most likely to get violent. “If you’re as good as they say, we’ve got it.”

Erik can see Shaw raising his hand out of the corner of his eye, and the rabble all fall quiet at once. Shaw leans low and fixes them all with his stare. “Yeah, we’ve got a good team this year, but we’ve still got to train hard. We’ve got to all stay committed. No distractions. This has to be of the highest priority this year for everyone on this team. Understood?”

They all murmur their agreement. Erik rolls his eyes.

Shaw stands up straight again. “Charles, welcome on our team,” he says pompously, and all the other apes maffick loudly. Erik hasn’t heard the new boy say a single thing yet.

They all get up and make their way towards the door. Erik holds his book higher, trying to hide his face completely, hoping against hope—

_ WAMM.  _

Someone slaps the book out of his hand, and it hits him in the face. Erik scrambles quickly to his feet, backing against the wall.

Shaw laughs. He turns to Xavier, a sneering look on his face. “Don’t tell me they set you up with this sad fucker.” 

Xavier just sits there, still not saying anything.

Shaw turns back to Erik. He takes a step towards him, a vicious smile on his lips. There’s no way for Erik to back away any further. “Listen to me, homo,” he says quietly, but clearly enough for all the boys in the room to hear him, and jeer... “You keep your filthy little queer hands to yourself, understood? Charles is one of us. If I ever hear you’re getting too close to him...I’m gonna end you.” Still smiling his evil little smile, he smacks Erik across the face. It stings, but Erik’s had worse.

Shaw turns to Xavier. “Seriously though. Watch this one. You don’t want to end up being fucked in the arse by him in the middle of the night.”  _ Roaring laughter. _ “I hear that’s what he likes to do. Careful, or you’ll catch some kind of disease.” He turns around and raises his hand. “See you at training tomorrow.” And he leaves the room, the boys all following behind like eager little lemmings, slamming the door shut behind them.

There’s an awful silence in the room after they’ve gone. Erik’s face is burning, and not just from the slap. He just hates keeping still and not doing anything to defend himself, but he knows too well that if he ever fought back he’d be expelled quicker than he could say “Shaw started it.” They all pay to attend this school, Christ—Shaw’s rich father donates to the school regularly. Erik’s just here because Mr. Hughes is doing his brother-in-law a favour, fuck knows why. If anyone would be blamed it would be Erik, and seeing him thrown out of another school would break his mother’s heart. No. Erik just has to take it, no striking back. But he hates it. He hates it  _ so much. _

Xavier has gotten up from his bed and is putting all his stuff away in his wardrobe, and Erik shoots a first proper glance at him. He’s only really seen him from afar yet. Xavier’s shorter than the other boys but sturdy. He’s definitely got an athlete’s body—more like a rugby player than a footballer—but unlike Erik’s lanky form. He’ll fit right in then. His brown hair is a little longer than the really short haircuts most of the other boys sport. Erik hasn’t even seen his roommate’s face yet, but he doesn’t really feel like looking at it anyway. There’ll probably be nothing but apprehension written in his expression, maybe even disgust, and Erik doesn’t need any more of that.

Without further hesitation, Erik slips out of the room, leaving Xavier behind to unpack his things in peace. Carefully, trying to avoid crossing the path of anyone who’s likely to attack him again, Erik wanders through the dark corridors of the ancient building. He can hear laughter coming from almost every room he passes, and there are also boys in the corridors. They all seem happy to be back with their friends. It makes Erik homesick, or just even more sick of the situation.

Erik walks on, and soon he leaves the lively corridors filled with students’ voices behind him. It’s all dark here and Erik doesn’t turn on the light. He checks whether there’s anyone around, then opens the hidden door that nobody but himself knows about—the one that leads to his refuge in the attic. He climbs up two ladders until he reaches the dusty landing at the top, the one behind the large clock you can see from outside. He can tell by the new layer of dust that nobody’s been here since he left before the summer holidays. Good. So it’s still his secret. 

Erik fishes two candles and a pocket lighter out of a wooden box and lights them before he carefully places them on an old plate he stole from the dining room about two years ago. He leans back against the old sofa covered in a dust sheet and sighs. 

At least he’s still got this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still crying about the empty comment section - all those sweet and lovely comments, gone forever. :'((


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) is an amazing beta!

Before Erik knows it, within the first day of school really, the old routine has taken over his life again. As bad as boarding school is, at least he always knows what to expect.

Erik puts all his effort and energy in his classes because, after all, they’re what he’s here for, and everything else is just a mundane horror to be endured. His teachers are happy with his contributions, while his classmates pay him hardly any attention or, perhaps worse, snicker behind his back and flick little chewed-up pieces of paper at his head. Normal — just like those last three years, with the tiny improvement that since last year he doesn’t have any classes with Shaw anymore.

Erik eats. He sleeps. He sets himself a chess game up on his desk and he moves one piece a day. It’s dull, but if nobody else wants to play with him…at least he’ll know for sure that he’ll win. And perhaps that’s all life is — just making moves one step at a time, and hoping to get to the end.

It’s ingrained habit to try to avoid the boys from the football team, especially Sebastian Shaw, but Erik can’t help crossing their paths every now and again — particularly now that the football team’s new golden boy shares a room with Erik...

Goddamn Charles Xavier. Erik has no idea how he manages to be everyone’s darling and yet still be respected by the ‘cool’ guys at the same time. It seems as though there’s nothing Charles Xavier can’t do. He’s clever, and has apparently left his last school with A*s all around. He’s charming, and apparently all his teachers love him. Hell, even Erik’s electronics teacher gushed about him the other day, and as far as Erik knows Xavier isn’t in any of his classes. Charles Xavier is also interested in things that would usually make everyone mark him down as a geek, and unsurprisingly the uncool kids of the school fawn over him and have already persuaded him to join the chess club. That should usually mean that there’s no way he’ll be accepted by the athletes, because fraternizing with the nerds is an absolute no-go if you want to be accepted by the cool guys. But the usual rules don’t seem to apply to Charles Xavier, because most of all he’s an excellent football player — the best they’ve had in years, if the excited chatter of the other students is to be trusted. He’s their golden guarantee to win the annual school’s cup — already marked down as the hero who’ll bring glory to the school.

For fuck’s sake...

As if all these things weren’t annoying enough about Charles Xavier though, there’s one more thing, the worst thing, that always makes Erik turn his back on him as soon as he sees him.

Charles Xavier is pretty.

He’s got the most entrancing blue eyes that Erik has ever seen on anyone. The first time Erik looked him full in the face he’s had to force himself to look away again and not stare too much. God, he could lose himself in those eyes —and that’s just a bloody terrible idea . On top of that, his lips are of a sinful dark red colour, making it appear as though someone has only just stopped kissing him vigorously (and Erik needs to get rid of that image  _ immediately _ ). His skin is very pale, and, even though that’s not normally something Erik would find especially attractive in anyone, it suits him, and gives him a noble appearance — like that of a young prince from some whimsical fairytale. Not even his slightly-too-large nose can destroy the entrancing effect. It’s probably even beneficial his nose is as it is because if it were small and delicate, Charles Xavier would look like a pretty girl.

It’s infuriating. How can anyone be so... _ perfect? _

Erik does his best to ignore Charles Xavier whenever they’re in their room together. They’ve never spoken to each other, mostly because Erik hasn’t given Xavier the chance yet. He’s definitely not watching Xavier out of the corner of his eye when he’s reading or working either, and he’s not stealing glances at him while he gets changed... Erik is not a creep, and he doesn’t want Xavier to think that he is one, even though Charles Xavier probably expects Erik to lust over him anyway, after what Shaw said the first night. Speaking of Shaw, that’s another reason to stay as far away from Charles Xavier as possible. Erik doesn’t want Shaw to get the impression that he’s in any way trying to get into Xavier’s pants. As if that were even an option...

 

Erik’s mother calls him on Saturday, a week into term. She calls him every weekend, anxious to hear that he’s doing okay, that he’s eating enough (which he is) and that he’s happy (which he’s not). He never really knows what to tell her. She wants to hear that everything is going well, and not that he hates his life and everyone around him, so he chooses his words very carefully. He doesn’t want to lie to her, but she doesn’t need to know the whole truth.

_ “Hallo, Schatz,” _ she says warmly as he picks up.

He can’t help but smile at the sound of her voice. “Hallo, Mama.”

Charles Xavier looks up from the book he’s reading on his bed, slightly confused. Erik turns his back on him.

_ “How are you, love?” _ she asks in German.

“Fine. I’m fine.” It’s not a lie, he tells himself — he’s been much worse before. Putting aside the place he’s in and the fact that everyone hates him, he really is fine —he’s not sick or anything . “How are you?”

_ “Oh, lots to do. You know how it is. But otherwise good. How are your classes?” _

Erik slumps down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. “Good. We’re starting a new project in my electronics class. We’re going to be making something ourselves, but I don’t really know more yet.”

_ “Oh, that sounds like fun!” _ He can hear her smile through the phone. It makes him smile too.  _ “Do you still have your own room?” _

“No.” He closes his eyes. He knew she’d ask this.

_ “Oh. Who are you sharing with? A nice boy?” _

_ Nobody here is nice.  _ “I don’t know. He’s new. I don’t care.”

Erik can tell that Xavier is listening intently. He hasn’t turned a page of his book for a while. But what does Erik care? Xavier probably doesn’t understand a word of what he’s saying anyway.

_ “Oh, but then you’ve got to be nice to him, Erik. Help him. You know it’s not easy if you don’t know anyone.”  _ That’s her reprimanding tone. _ “Show some compassion, Erik.” _

“Yeah, I don’t really think that’s his problem. They’re all over him here...” There’s too much resentment in his voice.

She’s quiet for a moment. _ “Are you sure you’re alright, love?” _

He swallows. _ Shit. _ “Yes, sorry. Lots to do. I’ve got to go and get some work done.”

_ “Oh. Of course.” _ She knows he’s not being honest, but she’s quick to hide it.  _ “Good luck with your work. I’ll talk to you next week, okay?” _

“Yeah.” His throat is dry. “Tschüss, Mama.”

_ “Mach’s gut, mein Schatz.” _

Erik stares at his phone after he’s hung up. God, he hates himself for not being completely honest with his mother, but he knows it would only break her heart to know the full extent of what’s been going on. But he hates it. Especially since she knows he’s hiding something, so now she’ll be worrying about him.

And he misses her terribly already, even though he knows it’s pathetic. He’s 18 years old, for fuck’s sake...

“I didn’t know you were German.” 

Erik almost jumps at the sound of Xavier’s posh voice. He’d almost forgotten that he was there. Erik turns to look at the other boy, and finds that Xavier is smiling slightly. 

“I had German in secondary school. But only for three years. I don’t think I understood half of what you were saying. Were you talking to your mother?”

Erik doesn’t know what to say. He really doesn’t want to talk to Xavier. He’s not entirely sure whether he’s being mocked either.

Xavier laughs nervously. “We’re the two foreigners then, aren’t we. No wonder they put us in a room together.”

Erik raises his eyebrows. Charles Xavier, a foreigner? The poshest of them all?

When Erik still doesn’t speak, Xavier rambles on. “Oh, you don’t believe me? I’m...actually American, believe it or not. Though my father was British...and my stepfather is too. I’ve been sent to boarding school in Britain since I was ten, and we only ever had British staff in our house, so…” He throws Erik another look and licks his lips nervously.

Those fucking red lips should be illegal. Especially on posh little rich boys with their  _ British staff. _

“Go to hell, Xavier,” Erik says as he jumps up, and then he’s out of the room before Xavier can react at all. He walks quickly down the corridor until he reaches the toilets and locks himself into a cubicle. His face is hot, and the blood is pounding in his ears. And not just there...

Erik just can’t fucking  _ believe _ it. Xavier, of all people. Yes, Erik’s been attracted to a boy before, but never to any of his fellow students here. He hates them.  _ All of them. _ Xavier is no exception, with his posh accent and his rich family and his special talent for football.

Why the hell does he have to find  _ Charles Xavier _ attractive?

Erik lets out a humourless laugh. Oh, this is just perfect. They all think he’s gay anyway, even though he’s never even shown the slightest hint that it might be true, and they already hate him for it. They mock him relentlessly. And  _ Charles Xavier _ on top of that. Prematurely declared school hero. They all bloody worship Charles Xavier.

Erik bangs his head against the cubicle wall. It fucking hurts.

He can only imagine how much worse everything will get if anyone finds actual proof of him being gay, or being...whatever their simplified idea of being gay is. Shaw would love that. He’d love to have something to rub into Erik’s face again and again. Something he could use to humiliate him with, other than just speculations. There doesn’t seem to be anything Shaw enjoys more than taunting Erik, except perhaps football. If Erik isn’t careful now, maybe Shaw will get his chance.

It’s a fucking nightmare.

Why did they have to put Xavier in  _ his _ room?  _ Why? _ They could have paired him with anyone. Why Erik? Erik’s got nine more months here. Why does everything have to become more complicated  _ now? _ How is he going to get through the school year if every damn day he wakes up to those blue eyes and red lips —that go extremely well with the colours of their ridiculous ties by the way—and he has to suppress even the tiniest reaction because  _ everyone _ here is on the lookout for something that’ll confirm their theory about him.  _ Christ. _

Erik doesn’t go straight back to his room. He doesn’t want to face Xavier again, not with his flushed face and sweaty hands. Plus, he can’t be sure that Xavier hasn’t told Shaw about Erik being rude to him. Erik doesn’t exactly fancy getting beaten up by Shaw. Though, strangely, something tells him that Xavier won’t tell anyone.

Instead, he sneaks off to his refuge in the attic. He just needs to get away from it all. That should do the trick. Relax a little. Do something he enjoys, undisturbed. Keep his mind of all the shit that’s going on in his life right now.

Erik brought his swiss army knife and he’s stolen a few logs of wood from the fireplace outside the previous day. He’d like to learn how to make sculptures out of wood or something. He’s seen a man carving figures out of wood when he went to a handicraft market with his mother over the summer. It was pretty cool. Impressive. They looked so  _ real. _ Erik would like to be able to  _ create _ stuff like that. If this shithole of a school offered an art course Erik would definitely have taken it. He likes art. But apparently football is more important here.

That’s why boys like Charles Xavier will always find friends here, and why Erik was doomed from the get-go. 

Erik shakes his head angrily. No. He’s here to relax. He needs to forget about Charles Xavier. Erik closes his eyes for a moment.  _ Don’t let him in here. _

Erik works and works. At first he has a lot of trouble getting the knife to do what he wants it to do—it keeps slipping off. He cuts himself several times and he doesn’t really know how to approach the whole thing. A block of wood becoming a person? Where do you start? After an hour his sculpture still looks like a log that somebody has chewed on.

Well, Erik  _ likes _ art. He never said he had a special talent for it. But at least he’s got ambition when it comes to handicraft.

He keeps working though, and some time later it’s at least somewhat feasible that the log could, at some point, take on a human shape. It still looks very angular, however, and if he keeps going like this, he’ll end up with nothing more than a very stiff upright standing stick figure. Nothing very realistic. He’ll probably need to plan the next one a lot better, and not just start blindly. Maybe he should put some work into studying the anatomical details of the human body. He’d need a model for that though. 

Charles Xavier springs to his mind immediately. 

_ Fuck off. _

Everything that’s going on comes flooding back to him at once. He’s honestly managed to forget all about it for a while...how long? He checks his watch and curses loudly. He’s been here more than four hours. He’s missed dinner. Shit. No food until breakfast.

It’s lucky really that he’s got no friends, or somebody might have reported him missing already. Nevertheless, he should probably try and get back to his room before anyone does go looking for him, and possibly even discovers his secret refuge. That would be catastrophic.

The corridors are pretty much empty apart from a few boys sitting outside a room. It’s still quite early, so nobody is asleep yet. Most doors are wide open. Boys are lounging on their beds, leaning against their desks, sitting on the window sill. Their chatter sounds cheerful as ever. They don’t pay him any attention. Good.

When Erik arrives at his room and is just about the open the door, it suddenly gets pulled open from inside and Xavier comes hurrying out. They almost collide and just stare at each other for a second.

“Erik. It’s you. I was just getting worried. You know, when you weren’t at dinner, I—” Xavier begins, but Erik just pushes him out of the way and enters.

Worried?  _ Really?  _ And since when does anyone here call him  _ Erik? _ They all just call him by his surname (mispronounced by the way), or else ‘homo’, ‘poof’ or something of the sort.

Erik throws himself onto his bed and picks up a book, pretending to read. Maybe Xavier is just going to leave after all.

But, of course, Xavier doesn’t leave. Instead, he sidles back into the room and closes the door behind himself. He doesn’t move for a moment, then walks over to his bed. Erik can hear the bed frame creak lightly. Xavier must have sat down. 

It’s quiet for a while, yet Erik still can’t focus on the book in his hand. There’s a weird tension in the air. He almost jumps when Xavier suddenly speaks.

“Can I ask you something?”

Erik puts the book aside and sits up slowly, his back against the wall. Xavier’s on the edge of his bed, staring at him intently.

Erik takes a deep breath. “Depends.”

He can see Xavier swallowing. “It’s...personal.”

“Okay…” The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck are standing up. He doesn’t like this. At all.

Xavier swallows again. “What Sebastian said...you know. Last week. Is it true? Are you really...gay?”

Erik looks down at his hands. His fists are clenched. His ears are burning. Fuck Sebastian Shaw and his homophobic gang. And fuck Charles Xavier for giving a damn about it. What the hell does it matter if Erik’s gay or not?

“I’m not gonna feel you up in the middle of the night, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Erik presses out through clenched teeth. Charles Xavier is just like the other homophobic idiots. Erik fucking  _ knew _ it. How could he ever find him attractive?

“No!” Xavier looks even paler than usual now. “No, that’s really not what I—”

“Go to hell, Xavier,” says Erik again, slamming his hand against the light switch on the wall next to his bed. The room is plunged into complete darkness. He knows it’s childish, he really does. But right now he doesn’t give a fuck.

Anything, as long as he doesn’t have to see Xavier’s face anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!

Erik doesn’t see a lot of Charles Xavier after that.

Not that he’s avoiding him, but with the football cup approaching the team practices almost every day, so Xavier only really returns to their room to sleep there and sometimes do some school work (it’s astonishing how little he studies and yet, if the rumours are true, he’s top of all his classes). Erik wouldn’t know anyway. He disappears to his refuge in the attic as soon as he’s finished his own school work each day.

Erik’s getting much better at working with the knife, though he’s given up working on human sculptures. It annoyed him to no end that, whenever he was trying to recall exactly some anatomical structure of the human body, Charles Xavier’s body sprang to his mind. This is Erik’s place, and nobody else’s. Charles Xavier has no business being here, be it in person or in Erik’s head. So, Erik switched to dogs, cats, horses, and birds instead, but they’re looking really good. Not perfect, but he likes them. He’s actually quite proud of himself. It’s his mother’s birthday next month and he’s thinking of sending her one of them. Maybe a cat. She likes cats.

He’s also considering working on his own chess set. His current one looks terrible—the chess pieces are made of plastic and ugly as hell. He could make a project out of it. It would keep him occupied over the school year, and in the end he’d even get something out of it. Not a bad idea. 

On the other hand, he still doesn’t have anyone to play with as long as the nerds are too afraid to be seen in his company, and playing alone really isn’t much fun. It’s kind of pathetic actually, but that might be at least partly the reason why he does it. It feels a bit like a “Fuck you!” to everyone else at this school.  _ You think I’m odd and pathetic? Well, look at this, I’m revelling in it. Weird and proud. _

Erik’s not sure what Charles Xavier thinks of him playing chess against himself. He’s definitely seen him at it—Erik moves one piece a night, always before he goes to bed, and Xavier has watched him do it. He’s never said anything about it though, and weirdly enough nobody, not even Shaw, has taunted Erik because of it yet. It clearly looks as though Charles Xavier hasn’t told anyone about it. Erik has no idea what to think of this.

It’s not as though Erik isn’t getting tormented. Only the previous week Shaw and Andy Roberts ambushed him in the boy’s toilet. He almost got away, but then two more of them appeared and he ended up with his head in the toilet bowl. They’d all guffawed loudly as they flushed and his hair got all wet. He had no opportunity to properly clean himself either, because he had a class, all he could do was wash his hair provisorily in the bathroom sink and have the water drip all over his shirt and jacket. But that’s normal. He’s used to these kinds of stunts. There’s no new talk about him going around though, nothing that Xavier in particular could have told them—no odd behaviours of Erik’s he’s observed in their room and passed on to Shaw for a laugh.

There’s a lot of other talk going on at school that doesn’t concern Erik for once. And the subject of it is actually none other than Charles Xavier.

Nobody at their school (except Xavier himself of course, and probably Mr. Hughes) knows the reason why Xavier left his last school. As far as Erik knows he hasn’t told anyone anything about it, and whenever someone asks he just smiles mysteriously and shrugs. However, there are tons of rumours. 

Erik thought he knew everything about rumours, considering he’s been the subject of them for years now. People have thought up the weirdest and most offensive things about him. He’s heard the whispers behind his back. He’s heard them shouted at him through the corridors followed by laughter. He’s had countless people ask him questions like “Is it true you’ve fucked a dog?” or “Have you really tried to shove a beer bottle up your arse?”, knowing that whatever he chose to say next would be twisted in a way to fit their narrative. Consequently he’s always tended to keep quiet and has acted as though he didn’t hear.

But this is different. There are so many rumours about Charles Xavier’s last school and the reason why he left, but all of them are, inexplicably, positive and flattering. Instead of assuming the worst, the different groups in the school seem to assume that something happened which fits their idea of Xavier the best. And those are all positive ideas.

The football team, above all Shaw, don’t talk about anything else but the apparent fight that Charles Xavier had with a student who was being smart with him, which put said student into hospital. That’s what got him expelled, according to them. Xavier is a fighter, a talented sportsman, a tough guy. Exactly what they all aim to be.

The geeks of course would hate that to be true, so obviously they don’t believe a word of it. They’re all convinced that Xavier left his last school because he wasn’t satisfied with the quality of the teaching, which led to a dispute (non-violent of course), and caused him to find a school that was better suited to his needs. 

Obviously the football team has heard of these rumours. They laugh about them. They’d never believe that. Their Charles Xavier is not such a pussy.

And Xavier himself? He just smiles and doesn’t tell.

How the fuck does he do it? Is this only because he’s rich and an athlete? How the hell does he make  _ everyone _ love him?

Well, everyone except Erik of course. Erik doesn’t like him, not at all. Charles Xavier is just like all the other idiots in his school, and the fact that he’s hot and pretty doesn’t change that. It’s possible that Xavier’s looks only make Erik hate him more, because he just can’t stop thinking about blue eyes, red lips, soft brown hair and glimpses of pale skin.  _ Fuck. _

It’s absolutely infuriating. However determined Erik is to burn it into his mind that Xavier is a despicable person like all the other football players, he just can’t get around the fact that he’s so  _ fucking attractive. _ At first Erik hoped desperately that the better he got to know Xavier the less alluring he’d find him, but if anything the contrary is true. It’s driving him mad. He half hopes that Charles Xavier will say something horrible to him at some point, something idiotic, something homophobic—anything to make those soft red lips seem punchable rather than kissable. But whenever they do exchange a few words Xavier is positively  _ charming. _ It can’t be real though. It  _ has _ to be an act. Nobody can be that  _ perfect. _

It’s like torture. There’s just so much  _ want _ there that feels wrong. Why Xavier?  _ Why? _ Erik’s shoulders and jaw muscles constantly ache because he’s so tense. He’s sneaked off to the toilets in the middle of the night to wank a few times, determinedly not thinking of Charles Xavier’s mouth. At least he slept well afterwards, but the next day he was straight back to being terribly pent up.

Erik’s so tense, in fact, that he breaks the glass of the picture frame holding his parents’ photograph one day, sweeping it off the desk by accident. There are shards of glass all over the floor, and the picture —it’s the only photo he has of his father, and now it’s lying there, buried under broken glass. He tries to extract it from the mess, but he’s not careful enough and cuts himself on a large shard. Blood smears across his father’s face.

“Fuck!”

“Are you hurt?” Xavier’s there beside him in an instant, looking deeply concerned. He takes hold of Erik’s arm to examine it closer.

“No!” Erik snaps, pulling his arm away quickly. “Fuck off, you twat!”

It’s all Xavier’s fault really. If it weren’t for him, Erik wouldn’t have been so heedless and this would never have happened.  _ Fuck Charles Xavier. _

Erik pulls out a tissue and tries to clean the smudge on his father’s face. It half works. There’s still some blood left, but he doesn’t dare rub more forcefully for fear of causing more damage to the photograph. He places it carefully back on his desk then looks around for something to clean up the mess.

“I’ll do it.” Xavier’s suddenly there again, dustpan and brush in one hand, a first-aid kit in the other. He doesn’t touch Erik again, but puts the little box down on Erik’s desk, before he squats down and begins cleaning the floor.

Erik just stands there, blood dripping slowly from his right hand. He half feels like giving Xavier a good kick in the back to make him topple over, half like telling him to stop and mind his own business. But he doesn’t do either. It’s as though he’s paralyzed, unable to move or say anything. He didn’t expect Xavier to come back and  _ help _ him. It feels wrong to have Xavier clean up his mess for him, especially after what Erik’s just said to him. It’s just wrong. It makes everything worse.

Charles Xavier walks over to the dustbin and empties the dustpan into it. When he turns around to face Erik again, he frowns. “You should really get that wound cleaned and bandaged, you know.”

Erik doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to think. This is not right. What is happening?

Xavier sighs. “Come here.”

This time Erik lets him take his arm without a struggle. He lets him examine his wound and clean it with an antiseptic. It stings, but Erik doesn’t flinch. Nor does he speak, almost like his voice must have gotten lost sometime over the last minutes. Xavier’s hands are gentle and skilled, and within two minutes there’s a clean and white bandage covering the injury.

“There you go.” Xavier looks up into Erik’s face for the first time with a soft smile on his lips, but it disappears almost instantly when he sees the look on Erik’s face, and turns into a nervous and uncertain expression. Neither of them move.

Erik almost jumps when suddenly the bell rings for dinner. 

Xavier looks at him for another moment as though he wants to say something else. But then he just shrugs and turns around, closing the door silently behind himself.

Erik doesn’t move for another few minutes. His mind is whirling. What was this? He feels terrible, as though he surreptitiously obtained some sort of treat that he didn’t deserve. His left hand absentmindedly touches the soft bandage. He half feels like ripping it off, like it is something that doesn’t belong there, something he doesn’t deserve. He leaves it in place though.

Who is Charles Xavier? Why is he so nice to Erik? And why does he keep being nice, even though Erik’s been nothing but a dick to him? Somehow this feels even worse than all those times that Erik was bullied by Shaw and his cronies. Erik always knew it wasn’t his fault but theirs. He was always the victim, and they were the bad guys. Now, suddenly,  _ he’s _ the bad one. Xavier didn’t deserve any of the things Erik’s said to him, Xavier hasn’t treated him badly on one single occasion since they first met. Yes, Shaw told Erik to stay away from Xavier, so avoiding him could count as self-preservation, but insulting him and shouting at him? Xavier didn’t deserve that. And, in a way, that makes Erik little better than all those boys he hates so much. _ Fuck. _

When Erik enters the dining hall, he spots Charles Xavier at once. He’s sitting with the football team, as usual, but he looks up when Erik enters, and once again it looks as though he wants to get up and say something. However bad Erik feels though, there’s no way he’ll approach  _ that _ table. Shaw’s sitting there. Going anywhere near that table would be close to suicidal.

So he turns away and chooses a table on the opposite side of the room, sitting down with his back to Charles Xavier. 

His food doesn’t taste very good this evening. He keeps picking at his spaghetti, not at all hungry, his stomach seemingly having shrunk to half its previous size, still thinking, wondering, contemplating. And when he finally gets up to leave, his plate is still half-full. If his mother were here, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave the table like this.

The dining hall is almost empty when he leaves. There’s no sign of anyone from the football team—not Shaw, not Xavier, none of them.

When Erik returns to his room Xavier is there, sat on his bed reading. He pays Erik no attention and so Erik walks over to his own bed and sits down. The photograph of his parents is still where he left it on his desk, the frame gone and broken. He’ll need a new one. Maybe next time they get to go to Bournemouth he can find a store.

His eyes fall on his cheap and crappy chess set at the edge of the desktop and he frowns. Something’s different. He gets up to look more closely, and notices that one the white rooks has been moved. There’s also a tiny note, half-hidden underneath the figure. Erik pulls it out.

_ ‘Your move,’ _ it says simply, in neat handwriting.

Erik looks over at Charles Xavier on his bed. His face is hidden by his book, but Erik can see his ears burning red. He’s holding his book far too close to his face for someone who’s not terribly short-sighted.

Erik hesitates for a moment, then he picks up the chessboard carefully and carries it over to Xavier’s desk, placing it on the edge of the desktop, and turning it around so the white side is facing Xavier’s bed while the black side is facing the desk chair. He sits down on the chair, waiting, a little nervously, for his roommate’s reaction.

Charles Xavier seems hesitant too. It takes him a moment to put away his book, and another to approach Erik and the chessboard. When he takes a seat on the opposite side of the board, he swallows.

Erik moves a pawn. He can see Xavier’s eyes follow the movement of his fingers on the board. He appears to relax slightly.

“Your move,” Erik says, before he immediately feels a bit stupid for having just repeated Charles Xavier’s own words back to him.

Charles, however, smiles. And it occurs to Erik that even though Charles smiles so much, Erik’s never  _ really _ seen him smile before. Not like this. Not with his eyes. The effect is extraordinary. The whole room seems to light up. 

Erik catches himself staring and quickly looks down at the board again.  _ Damn. _ This is not going to make things easier, is it?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!

It’s surprising how quickly Charles becomes his friend after that. Erik doesn’t even realise what’s happening at first—he hasn’t really had a friend in years—but soon they spend every evening together, playing chess. And every night it gets later and later. They talk and laugh a lot too. Spending time with Charles is _fun._

A few days after their first chess game Charles sits with Erik at breakfast for the first time. They enter the dining hall together and Charles waves at his teammates sitting at the same table as always, but then he follows Erik to the other side of the hall. The footballers stare daggers at Erik, but none of them approach them. Not even Shaw. And he doesn’t say anything either when Erik meets him alone in the hallway later.

Erik’s first instinct is to leg it, especially as he remembers what Shaw said about getting too close to Charles the very first day, but Shaw strangely acts as though he hasn’t seen Erik and simply walks past him. In fact, everyone seems to choose to ignore him now rather than taunt him. Is that really all it takes to not be the school’s number one punchbag anymore? Have a friend? Or is it maybe the fact that Erik’s friend is the most admired student of the school and nobody wants to upset him?

It’s definitely strange though. All those last years it was as though there was a curse on Erik that would devolve to anyone treating him nicely. Becoming Erik’s friend should have made Charles at least the second most hated student at St. John’s, but nothing’s changed for Charles at all. They still respect him, they even still treat him as though the sun shone out of his arse. It’s as though Charles is immune to whatever disease everyone else is afraid catching from Erik. He’s immune to the _gayness._

And yet, Erik doesn’t really understand why Charles bothered to become his friend in the first place. Why risk his great reputation at all by demonstratively talking to Erik, sitting with him, laughing with him? It’s not as though Charles needs any more friends. He’s friends with _everyone._ Erik wouldn’t be surprised if wild birds suddenly flew through the windows, landed on Charles’ shoulders, and let him pet them. Charles has got that kind of aura. Everyone loves him.

But why Erik? Why does Charles even bother? It’s not like he needs Erik. Did he only befriend Erik because he thought Erik was lonely? It’s a terrible thought. Erik has never needed and will never need anyone’s charity.

When Erik plucks up his courage one evening and asks Charles about it, his friend actually looks surprised, and maybe even a little offended.

“Charity? What? You think I’m your friend out of pity?”

Erik shrugs. “You don’t need me. You’ve got enough friends without me.”

Charles shakes his head incredulously. “But they’re not—I mean…” He looks lost for words for a moment. “They’re not like me.”

Erik raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t know what Charles is on about, but this is a load of rubbish. Charles is rich, athletic, and comes from a snobbish family (even if he’s much less of a snob himself than Erik thought at first). He fits right in. That’s mainly why he’s so popular. And Erik isn’t because Erik is none of these things. Erik’s different from Charles on so many levels. How can Charles think—?

“But I’m not like you,” Erik says slowly.

Charles’ face flushes redder than the setting sun. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean—” He trails off, before swallowing hard and quickly leaving the room.

Whatever that was about, and whatever Charles meant, Erik chooses to believe him. And one thing is definitely true—Erik never sees Charles smile as brightly with anyone else. His eyes never light up as much, and he never seems as relaxed as when they’re both together in their room, playing chess, laughing, and teasing each other. It looks as though Erik is Charles’ best friend, which is good because Charles is Erik’s only friend.

“Check and mate in two.”

“What?” Erik stares at the board. Charles is quite right—Erik was so fixated on his friend’s queen that he didn’t pay enough attention to his rook, and now—damn. There’s really nothing he can do anymore to save his king.

He looks up at Charles, who is wearing a rather smug expression.

“You said you’d crush me this time, Erik. I don’t feel it.”

“You just wait...” replies Erik, amused.

“Honestly though.” Charles’ grin is even more smug now. “You’ve yet to win a match, haven’t you?”

“Oh shut up.” Erik aims a half-hearted kick at him, but Charles—the swift little fucker—pulls his legs back quickly and grins even more widely.

“Come on, Erik. You said you’d do it. Crush me.”

Next thing Erik knows he’s half on top of his friend, trying to hold him down with his arm and shoulder, but of course Charles is the athlete of the two of them and it doesn’t take long for him to push Erik off again. Erik lands on his bottom next to Charles’ bed. He takes Charles’ offered hand, allowing his friend to pull him up again. They’re both laughing now, but Erik’s secretly glad it ended so quickly. He wouldn’t have wanted Charles to notice his quickly hardening boner.

It’s fun being Charles’ friend, great fun. Erik’s last year at St. John’s is quickly developing from the potentially worst of his life to the potentially best. He doesn’t remember ever actually enjoying himself before. They play chess, they talk late into the night about anything and everything, they tease each other endlessly, and they just laugh so much. It’s so easy being around Charles.

And it isn’t. Because it’s also fucking exhausting to constantly stop himself from gazing dreamily at his friend, from staring at his red, red lips whenever Charles licks them (which he does way too often, for _fuck’s_ sake) and from touching himself as soon as they’ve gone to bed. Yep. That one’s probably the hardest. Literally.

If Erik hoped that by becoming Charles’ friend he’d no longer be attracted to him, he’s been very, very wrong. Before they were friends he found Charles physically attractive. Now he’s slowly but surely falling in love with his friend—and his physical attraction hasn’t exactly subsided either. And Charles looks so bloody hot staring at the chessboard, chewing his lips, his eyes screwed up slightly, thinking about his next move.

Most times that they’re playing chess, Charles sits cross-legged on his bed while Erik sits on Charles’ chair, so his boner is mostly hidden by the desk. Sometimes, however, they play on the floor or on one of their beds. Those are the times that Erik has to grab a pillow or fold his hands awkwardly over his crotch.

When they’ve switched off the light Erik’s fantasy goes off at once, to some place where Charles feels the same way about Erik as Erik does about him, where acting _gay_ isn’t a punishable offence that’ll get you a life sentence of being taunted, ridiculed, and shut out. In this fantasy world Charles gently touches Erik’s face and looks him deep in the eyes, before he draws closer and presses his soft lips to Erik’s. In this world Charles’ hands are everywhere—exploring, tender at first, then more demanding. Their mutual breathing becomes more ragged, their gasps and moans louder. Erik watches Charles go to pieces under the touch of Erik’s hands, all smugness gone, his mouth half-open, trembling, begging for more...

That’s usually the point that Erik sneaks off to the bathroom or to the shower room, both completely silent, empty, and dark at this time of night. It never takes long for him to get himself off. He’s always on the edge before he’s even started touching himself.

The most uncomfortable part is always slipping back into the bedroom afterwards, because Charles is usually still awake. Sometimes his bed is even empty when Erik returns, and Charles turns up a few minutes after him. Neither of them ever speaks about it though. And thankfully Charles’ attitude towards him doesn’t change either.

Erik told his mother about Charles straight away when she called him right after they became friends. It’s good news after all, exactly the sort she always hopes for, and there isn’t a lot of that usually. He hasn’t _really_ told her about him though. He’s told her that they’re friends, that they play chess a lot, that he enjoys Charles’ company. All of that is true, and it’s exactly what everyone here, including Charles, thinks is all there is to it. The days that Erik went to his mother to tell her about his deepest feelings are long gone, so he hasn’t told her how he _really_ feels about Charles. He hasn’t told her that his heart skips a beat when Charles laughs. He hasn’t told her about the warm, fuzzy feeling in his stomach whenever Charles is close to him. And he sure as hell hasn’t told her about his nightly fantasies.

When she calls again, Charles and Erik are playing chess. When she hears that Charles is in the room she insists on talking to him, so Erik hands his phone over to Charles who looks surprised, but pleased. He listens to her intently for a while, laughing here and there, and repeating a few things she’s said, probably to make sure he’s understood her correctly—her English isn’t the best. Charles then attempts to say a few things in German, kicking Erik under the desk as he roars with laughter at his friend’s pronunciation.

 _“Oh Erik, das ist ja ein lieber und charmanter Kerl,”_ is the first thing Edie says as Charles hands Erik the phone back. _‘He’s a darling and charming guy.’_ Yeah, well. _Tell me about it._

She then starts ranting about how happy she is that Erik’s found such a wonderful friend, and already begins planning a visit over the next summer. _“You’ve still got the sofa bed in your room. There’d be enough space for the two of you. And you could show him around. Has he ever been to Germany before?”_

At this point Erik isn’t sure whether to be happy about the situation or start panicking. He knows she only wants what’s best for him, but she tends to be a little overemotional at times, to the point of being almost intrusive, and that can be somewhat overwhelming to people. Erik just hopes that she hasn’t asked Charles to visit them over the summer yet. That would be far too fast. They’ve only just become friends. They’ll have to see what the next few months will bring.

Charles doesn’t seem put off, however.

“She’s lovely,” he says with a wide, but somewhat sad smile. “She really cares about you.”

Erik shrugs. “She can be a bit...interfering, but she means well. And she’s my mum, so I guess it’s kind of her job to be like that.”

“Right.”

Erik thinks he can feel his friend’s eyes linger on his face as he stares at the chessboard deciding on his next move, but when he looks up Charles is also looking at the board again, his eyes screwed up in concentration.

 

The football cup moves closer and the team trains harder still, which means that Charles spends most of his free time out on the pitch. Erik doesn’t attend any teams or clubs, since nobody wants him there anyway. He used to spend all his spare time in his room or in his hideout in the attic. Erik’s never watched the football team’s practice before, and only a few weeks earlier he’d have sworn to anyone who asked that he’d rather drink his own piss (though probably not Shaw’s) than do so, but that was before he knew Charles.

Charles has changed everything. Well, almost everything. Erik still thinks football is boring as hell. What’s so interesting about a bunch of guys (how many again?) running after a ball? But he likes to watch Charles play. God, does he enjoy watching Charles play...

Their team outfit looks ridiculous, Erik has always thought so. Their shirts are striped red and blue, just like their ties, and the players wear ludicrously short blue shorts. They look absolutely idiotic, or so Erik thought until he saw Charles in them.

Because— _fuck_ —do they show off Charles’ thighs well. Those bloody gorgeous muscular thighs, moving around on the field, muscles contracting... _Damn._ Charles is Erik’s friend and all, but if Erik’s quite honest with himself, those thighs are the main reason he spends hours standing in the cold and the rain these days, watching the team practice. Well, the thighs and the glimpses he gets of Charles’ arse whenever his friend stretches during warming up. The nice thing (or the terrible thing, Erik is never quite sure about that) is that Charles usually stretches right in front of him, so they can have a talk before practice begins. At some point he always bends over to touch his toes and Erik gets the most spectacular view of thin blue fabric clinging to round and firm (or so Erik imagines) buttocks as though it would like to never let go again. And Erik can relate to those shorts. There’s nothing he’d like to do more than put his hand where the fabric is stretched so nicely and—

That is usually where he has to work very hard to pull himself together, first of all because the rest of the team including Shaw is never far away, and Erik just can’t allow Shaw to catch him staring at Charles’ arse. That would be bad. Very bad.

Even worse would be getting caught staring at Charles’ arse with an obvious erection. That would be catastrophic. Shaw would destroy him. And Charles...Erik honestly has no idea what Charles would do if he found out how Erik feels about him.

For some reason Erik can’t imagine that Charles would drop him for who he is. Charles has heard rumours about Erik being gay on his very first day, Erik’s never denied anything either, and still Charles decided to be his friend. So it couldn’t possibly come as a great shock to Charles, could it? On the other hand, Charles may not have a problem with people being gay in general, but still turn out to be grossed out by Erik fancying _him_ in particular. Somehow Erik can’t imagine that to be true though. Charles is different. He’s not such a dick. That’s why Erik’s slowly (or maybe faster than slowly) falling for him, isn’t it?

No, the thing that Erik’s most afraid of is that if word got out that Erik fancies him Charles could drop him to avoid being punished by everyone else for still being Erik’s friend. If everyone knew about Erik’s feelings for Charles there’d be no way for them to still spend so much time together without the other boys starting to suspect Charles to be gay too. And Charles can’t want that. He’s seen what it’s like for Erik after all.

Erik can’t let that happen, so he always tries to look another way whenever Charles stretches, though his eyes always slip back to round and firm buttocks before Erik forces himself to look away again.

Even though Erik knows shit about football even he can tell that Charles is very good at it. All those last years when he was forced to attend the football matches against other school’s teams Erik’s hardly payed attention to what was going on on the field, so it’s fair to say that he hasn’t really seen a proper football match yet, and hasn’t exactly paid attention to the actions of the players. Now, however, his eyes are glued to Charles’ body moving over the pitch, running left and right, backwards and forwards, and he can tell, in his complete ignorance, that Charles knows exactly what he’s doing.

Charles is so fast that nobody can keep up with him, he’s so skilful that it looks as though he’s controlling the ball with his mind rather than his body, and he’s so dexterous that he wins almost every duel and leaves his opponents behind, staring after him open-mouthed. Or maybe that’s just Erik’s impression. There’s no doubt he’s a tad biased.

It’s a joy to watch Charles play, thighs and arse aside, and Erik finds himself starting to hate football a little less every time. If that isn’t unexpected Erik doesn’t know what is.

When Charles returns to the side of the pitch after practice, still slightly out of breath, face flushed and covered in sweat, Erik’s fantasies are right back. God, how he’d like to push the sweaty strands of hair out of Charles’ face, touch his glowing face, and press his mouth to those soft, red lips. How he’d like to push Charles back into the grass and climb on top of him, straddling his waist, then lean over and kiss his heated face again, kiss the sweat away—

Instead, he waves his friend goodbye and quickly retreats to their now empty bedroom and throws himself onto his bed, knowing that Charles won’t be back for at least another half hour. He quickly unbuttons his trousers and slips his hand inside, imagining Charles in the shower at that very moment, water pouring over his naked body (while firmly shutting out all images of anybody else being there too, of _Shaw_ being there). He imagines droplets of water caressing Charles’ skin, running down his back, over his chest, in between his buttocks. He imagines Charles’ hand slipping down, gripping his cock as Erik grips his own. He has to bite back a moan there. He might be alone in his room, but he’s not alone in the building. He imagines what Charles’ moan would sound like and begins working himself faster. Charles’ head tilts back as Erik grips more tightly, stroking himself faster still.

Erik comes with a choked gasp, trying, but not entirely succeeding in making no noise. For about a minute he lies there, his hand still in his trousers, covered in semen, breathing heavily, then he gets up to change his underwear and clean his hand.

By the time Charles gets back to their room there’s no trace of red on Erik’s cheeks left and his breathing has returned to normal.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) for betaing this!

The closer they get to the Christmas holidays the less Erik knows how to feel about them. He misses his mother, he really does, and he is looking forward to seeing her again, but the idea of being separated from Charles for  _ two weeks _ just seems unbearable these days.

In the preceding years, the time before the Christmas holidays had been the most miserable for Erik since he started at St. John’s. Everyone was excited and looking forward to the holidays, to finally going home and seeing their families again, celebrating together, while Erik just sat there, longing to be home already because he knew by the time he got back Hanukkah would be over. Every night he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, imagining his mother alone in their tiny flat, lighting a candle all by herself. Nobody has ever considered the fact that Erik’s special holiday occurs earlier than Christmas most years, not the students, not any of the teachers. This wasn’t exactly new to Erik because in Germany it was just the same. It’s just part of being part of a religious minority, but at least in Germany he could still celebrate with his parents in the evenings. Since his father died Erik hasn’t been able to celebrate Hanukkah with his mother even once, and it makes him sad to think of her alone during this time that was always so special to her.

It’s still a sad thought, but Erik can’t help enjoying the time this year, even though he feels a little bit guilty about that. It’s just... he can’t remember ever having so much fun before, and so he forgets all about Hanukkah and his mother being alone while he sits in his room and plays chess with Charles, while they tease each other and laugh, and it’s not before he goes to bed and it’s silent for the first time that he remembers his mother, alone, during her favourite time of the year. It used to be his favourite time of the year too, back when his father was still alive. Now it feels a little as though he’s betraying her, swapping Hanukkah for Charles. It doesn’t feel right in a way, even though most of the time it feels exactly right.

Erik hasn’t talked to Charles about Hanukkah yet, and he doesn’t really feel like it either. He’s sure that Charles would love to know about it—ever since the moment that Charles found out Erik was Jewish he’s been interested in hearing everything about it—but Erik just doesn’t particularly want to discuss it. Not here at least because it really doesn’t matter in this place. And anyway, Erik’s not exactly strict in his faith, especially not since he left for England a few years ago, which is lucky really because there’s no ‘kosher’ meal option at St. John’s. Hanukkah was always special to him though, and still remains so even though he hasn’t celebrated it in so long. The last time he really celebrated it was shortly before his father died, back when everything was good, so he still associates the festival with warmth, security, love,  _ family. _ He misses it. And he hates the thought of his mother alone in their flat during this special time, while he’s off in England having the time of his life.

Charles comes from a Christian family, or at least they pretend to be Christian, according to Charles. They celebrate Christmas solely for the presents (“and for the alcohol”, Charles has added a little sadly when they talked about it), and Charles doesn’t look forward to the Christmas holidays, when he’ll have to go back to the States for two weeks. He’s told Erik more than once that he’d much rather stay at the school alone than go home.

Erik finds this hard to understand. True, these days school is much more enjoyable than it used to be, solely due to the fact that Charles is here now too. And this year Erik’s definitely looking forward to the last day of school much less than all those previous years, but nevertheless—he is happy to see his mother again, because even though he isn’t lonely anymore he still misses her. Staying in this place  _ alone, _ without Charles, wouldn’t be an option. No way.

Erik’s especially looking forward to seeing his mother again because he wants to tell her more about Charles. He can’t wait to talk to her face to face and share with her how  _ wonderful _ his new friend is, though he’s also a little afraid of her questions. He’s not sure at all how much he wants her to know about his feelings for his friend, and she’ll probably try and find out everything she can. Plus, she just knows when Erik is keeping something from her, she always has. Honestly, sometimes he wonders whether she can read minds the way she just seems to  _ know _ what’s going on in his head and heart. Even now, when they haven‘t seen each other for over three months and not at all since he met Charles, she seems to understand that there‘s more to it than he tells her.

Just like every year, she sends him a postcard bearing a menorah around Hanukkah. She usually does this to share with him at least part of the spirit, but this year, instead of it being full of festive wishes, she can‘t stop herself from writing mostly about Charles and how she‘d like to meet him, how she‘s looking forward to his visit (What the  _ fuck?  _ It sounds as though she’s decided on that already). It‘s ridiculous. It‘s as though she‘s positively  _ wooing _ Erik‘s friend. Luckily however, the card is in German, and Charles understands hardly anything of it (though he does notice the startling amount of times his name is mentioned).

It‘s the first time Erik receives post since the start of the school year, and as Erik’s name gets called when the post is handed out during breakfast, he doesn’t even notice the mispronunciation of his name (he’s gotten so used to it, it might as well be his name especially for St. John’s).

Charles, however, frowns at him. “He got your name wrong, didn’t he? He said ‘ _ lenn-shurr’. _ That’s not how it’s pronounced, is it? I always thought it was ‘ _ lanes-hair’ _ or something like that.”

Erik’s overcome with a sudden desire to pull Charles closer and kiss him breathless. Erik‘s face grows hot at the thought and he quickly looks down at the card in his hand. Charles didn’t get the pronunciation exactly right, but it’s as close as it’ll get in this place, and the fact that Charles even thought about his name long enough to realise...Not to mention the fact that Erik’s never heard his name sound sexier than just now, coming out of Charles extremely red and extremely kissable mouth.

This will provide fodder for Erik’s nightly fantasies for weeks. Not that Charles needs to know this though. Not now that Erik‘s so glad to have finally found a friend, and a great one at that. Not now that he‘s still so successful in hiding his true feelings for his friend. Not now that they‘re having so much fun that Charles forgets about football practice  _ twice. _

Erik can‘t blame him for forgetting really. If it were him, he‘d forget it on purpose—it‘s freezing cold out on the pitch and there‘s a constant icy drizzle, but Shaw is  _ pissed _ with them.

He doesn‘t shout or anything. He doesn‘t insult Charles or attack Erik, but Erik can tell how furious he is by the twitch in his cheek and the way he hardly opens his mouth to speak when he reminds Charles that football practice has to be his highest priority and that he can‘t let the team down. Erik‘s not sure what holds Shaw back, because he‘s clearly only just keeping himself from ripping their heads off (or Erik‘s at least). It‘s probably the fact that he‘s afraid of making Charles leave the team or something because without him they wouldn‘t stand a chance. Otherwise they’d have had it, Erik‘s sure of it. Charles doesn‘t seem to realise the danger, however. He just smiles brightly at Shaw and tells him he‘s very sorry and that it won‘t happen again. The look on Shaw‘s face!

And then of course it happens again two days later, and this time Shaw turns up with the whole team in his wake. For a moment, Erik‘s afraid that they‘re all going to attack him because there‘s murder in a few of their eyes, especially in Shaw‘s. This time they don‘t let Charles off so easily either.

“You’ve got to take this seriously, Charles!” bellows idiotic Andy Roberts. Shaw probably told him to say that. The guy is too stupid to form a coherent thought himself.

“He’s right,” nods Shaw importantly. “We’re all in this together. If you let it slide, Charles, you let us all down. That’s unacceptable. There’s nothing more important than this cup, understand?” He takes a step closer to Charles in a rather threatening manner. Erik has a sudden desire to jump in between them and protect his friend.

This time Charles doesn’t seem as relaxed either. He looks rather nervous, especially now that he and Shaw are practically nose to nose. And he stutters slightly. Erik’s never heard Charles stutter before. “Sorry, guys. I’m—really sorry. I—I didn’t—sorry. I won’t forget again. Promise.”

Shaw nods slowly and takes a step back again. “Good,” he says, his eyes still fixed on Charles. The other boys are quiet, all watching their self-proclaimed leader with awe in their eyes. It’s sickening.

Erik doesn’t see the hit coming and so he topples over in pain when Shaw’s fist sinks into his stomach. He can see Charles taking a step towards them out of the corner of his eye, but Shaw has already turned around again and is walking to the door.

“Don’t forget!” he yells before he leaves the room, the team following behind him, all snickering.

The next moment, Charles is there kneeling beside Erik, looking all terrified. “Erik, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need anything? A doctor?”

Erik almost smiles at Charles’ spluttering, but he doesn’t quite manage it with the pain in his stomach, so he just shakes his head. No, he doesn’t need a doctor. What he needs is retribution, but he knows he won’t have that anytime soon. 

And anyway, the fact that Charles was right there next to him, that there was so much concern in his eyes and voice, that he seemed ready to defend Erik against fucking  _ Sebastian Shaw  _ almost makes Erik forget the pain and the humiliation. Charles cares about him. The thought makes Erik’s heart beat as fast as if he has just run a marathon. For a moment he doesn’t give a fuck about everything else.

Only for a moment though, and then the anger and the pain are right back.

_ Damn _ Sebastian Shaw and his need to constantly prove how  _ tough _ he is. There was no fucking need to do this. Erik was just standing there, doing nothing. True, he’d have  _ liked _ to strangle Shaw with his ridiculous tie, but he didn’t. He didn’t do anything. Oh, one of these days...if he didn’t have to worry about what his mother would think if he was expelled  _ again _ for violence... _ Fuck _ this!

But of course Shaw gets what he wants, as he always does. Charles doesn’t miss football practice  _ once _ before the Christmas holidays, making sure he’s always on time. It angers Erik more than he likes to admit, and not only because this means that they have less time to spend together. Erik just _ hates _ how everyone does whatever Shaw wants without protest. This  _ arsehole  _ thinks he’s in charge of the whole school and nobody stands up to him. They’re either too afraid of him, or they actually like it because they profit from his violence and  _ toughness. _ Well, fuck them all.

The way Shaw attacked Erik in order to control Charles is new though, but it makes sense in a way. It’s probably easier and less dangerous to abuse Erik (who Shaw has been tormenting for years without backlash) rather than risk Charles leaving the team. And it did the trick, didn’t it? Plus, Charles is still an unknown entity to the other students in a way. Nobody knows whether he’s the type to tell his parents, and there are still those rumours about him having beaten up a guy from his last school so badly that the wound had to be stitched up. The incident that, as the guys from the football team claim, got him expelled.

Erik can’t believe that to be true though. Charles? A violent offender? Erik’s friend who hates violence of any kind, who’s so soft-spoken and considerate? His Charles who wants nothing more than to become a scientist, and who can talk about geeky subjects like biology and genetics for hours with a gleam in his eyes? Erik can’t imagine it.

Erik keeps thinking about it however, wondering. He knows Charles doesn’t want to talk about it — he’s kept evading any inquiry so far — but Erik just can’t help being intrigued. 

He doesn’t bring it up until the evening before the Christmas holidays though, as they’re already changed for bed and playing a last game of chess. They’ve both been quieter than usual that day. Erik knows Charles dreads going home, and he’s still not entirely sure how he feels about leaving his friend either. Yes, he’s looking forward to finally seeing his mother again, but he’ll miss Charles more than he can admit. Anyway, it’s probably the fact that they’re about to be separated for a while which makes Erik finally pluck up his courage and ask Charles something that’s been on his mind for weeks.

“Charles?”

“Hmm?” Charles is contemplating the chessboard, frowning slightly.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

Erik hesitates for a moment, wondering how best to phrase his question. “Why—can you tell me why you left your last school?”

Charles pauses for a second, his hand outstretched where he was about to move a piece on the chessboard. Then he moves his queen one field to the right. “There was an...incident,” he says slowly, without looking up.

Erik swallows. “What kind of incident?”

Charles takes one of the chess pieces lying next to the board and begins spinning it between his fingers. “Something...happened. With another boy. And then my mother decided that I should change schools.”

Erik is stunned. So what the football team guessed is almost true. Charles wasn’t expelled, but probably only because his parents were advised to remove him from school after he injured that boy. Erik has seen that happen before, but he can hardly believe it in this case. Charles.  _ Violent _ . It just doesn’t fit, and Erik can’t believe — not even for a second — that it was Charles’ fault. “I bet he asked for it,” he says quietly, watching his friend carefully.

Charles looks up, confused. “What?”

“I bet he...provoked you. Made you do it. I know you’d never…” Erik’s voice trails away as he sees the hurt look on Charles’ face. Why is he hurt though? Does he  _ want _ Erik to think that he’s some kind of hooligan?

“He didn’t make me do it,” says Charles and now he sounds almost angry.  _ What the fuck? _ “I wanted it. I’m not—I’m not ashamed, you know.” And he turns away, pulling his blanket up over himself and lying down with his face to the wall.

 

Erik hardly sleeps that night. A few times he almost gets up to wake Charles and ask him what the hell is going on, but something holds him back. Well, it might not be a great idea to disturb Charles in his sleep when he’s already pissed with Erik anyway.

Erik doesn’t really doze off until early in the morning, and when he wakes again it is only to the sound of the door closing behind Charles who’s clearly just left for breakfast. A look at his watch makes Erik groan loudly. Almost nine o’clock. His bus leaves at ten and he isn’t done packing yet. How on earth will he get a chance to talk to Charles before he has to leave? He thought they’d at least have breakfast together, maybe have a little more time afterwards. Perhaps, if he packs quickly now and waits for Charles to return...He’d have to skip breakfast, but that’s not a problem — he’ll get something at the station, and when he gets home his mother will have the most amazing dinner ready for him. He can only hope that Charles will get back quickly though.

Erik gets dressed as quickly as he can, and then begins throwing everything into his duffle bag in a disorderly fashion. He’s about to zip it up when he spots his chess set still sitting on Charles’ desk. Unsure what to do with it, and unwilling to waste any time looking for the pouch that usually holds the chess pieces somewhere in the mess within his duffle bag, he just pulls up the bag next to the desk and sweeps the pieces inside it. Or at least he tries, because one piece, the white queen, falls off the wrong side of the desktop and disappears somewhere between Charles’ mattress and the bedframe.

Well,  _ fuck. _

Erik sticks his hand into the crack where the chess piece has disappeared and feels around for the little figure. Nothing. 

He groans. Why does this have to happen  _ now? _

With some effort he lifts up Charles’ mattress and peers under it. There’s a lot of dust. Nobody seems to have cleaned underneath the bed for a long time. Within seconds he spots the chess piece stuck between the slatted frame and the bedframe, so he pulls it out and drops it into his bag without another glance.

Something else has also caught his eye, something on the other side of the bed, near the headboard, lying on top of the slatted frame, underneath the mattress. A colourful magazine. Well, how very interesting. 

With a smirk, Erik drops the mattress again. He hesitates for a moment. Is this invading too deeply into Charles’ privacy? But it’s not as though this is anything to be ashamed of. They  _ all _ have their filthy porn hidden somewhere, and, as old fashioned as it is, it’s no secret that most of them are turning to magazines for their dirty photographs. This is mostly because the mobile internet connection here is so terrible that you’ll wait  _ hours _ for a simple web page to load and Mr. Hughes and his team are checking everyone’s browsing record on the wifi to make sure nothing illegal is going on. Anyway, it’s not as though Erik’s surprised that Charles is hiding porn under his mattress (in fact, Erik’s got a magazine hidden in exactly the same place), but he can’t help wondering what  _ kind _ of porn Charles likes.

With a quick look at the door, making sure that Charles is still not there, Erik lifts up Charles’ mattress near the headboard again and pulls out the magazine.

It’s nothing like the one Erik’s got hidden under his mattress. There are no naked women on the cover. Erik’s mouth falls open.

Whatever he expected, it’s not this, it’s definitely not defined abs, broad shoulders, and a chiseled chin, covered in stubble. Erik just stares, unable to form a coherent thought, completely taken by surprise. 

Before Erik can take a closer look, however, he hears footsteps coming nearer. Panicking, he lifts up the mattress again and pushes the magazine under it, then throws himself onto his own bed.

Charles enters in the next moment, but stops in the doorframe as he spots Erik. “No breakfast?”

Erik shakes his head, hoping against hope that his face isn’t as red as it feels. “Not hungry.”

Charles nods and walks slowly to his own bed, sitting down on it.

They’re both silent for a while.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” says Charles suddenly, and very quietly.

Erik has trouble comprehending what Charles is talking about before he remembers their ‘fight’ the night before. “Oh. No, don’t be. It wasn’t—” 

All of a sudden the things Charles has said the night before fall into place in Erik’s head. It all makes sense now.  _ ‘Something...happened. With another boy.’  _ Oh shit.  _ Shit. _ If that doesn’t mean — Erik’s such an idiot—he got that completely wrong. And the things he’s said—he must’ve sounded like a complete dick to Charles... _ Fuck.  _ And now  _ Charles _ apologises? Or has Charles realised that there was a misunderstanding? Otherwise Charles must think that Erik knows...or not? It’s hard to comprehend what anyone knows or doesn’t know about the other’s beliefs at this moment. Maybe there’s still time to put this right.

Erik takes a deep breath. “No, I’m sorry. I think I...misunderstood. I—I didn’t mean—.”

Charles’ eyes widen. He’s clearly about to say something, but then there’s a knock on the door and before either of them can answer, a man in a black uniform enters.

“The car is ready,” he says, his eyes on Charles.

Charles opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. He throws Erik one last rather desperate look before he nods. “I’ll text you.” Then he’s out of the door, following the uniformed man carrying his bag.

Erik just stares after him, his mind racing. Maybe not everything is lost. Maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something good.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!

Erik has never enjoyed the Christmas holidays less.

He loves his mother, and he loves spending time around her, he loves her food, he loves her sense of humour and the way she just seems to understand him more than anyone else, but now he’d much rather be  _ anywhere else _ as long as Charles was there with him. He’d even like to go back to school just to be with Charles again. What a strange feeling. He’s never before wanted to go back to school.

They text pretty much every day, which is nice and which provides Erik with enough energy and desire to have a wank almost every night, but it’s still not the same as if Charles were there with him. Erik just fucking misses him.

Erik keeps Charles informed about everything that’s going on at his place (which is not much) and Charles in turn tells him about all that happens in his home in the U.S. Apparently Charles’ little stepsister is pestering him (though Erik can tell by the way Charles talks about her that he’s really fond of her) and his stepbrother is moody and bad-tempered, which means Charles tries to avoid him as much as possible. Most of all though, Charles tells him that he’s bored and wants to go back as much as Erik does—which helps lift Erik’s spirits every time Charles mentions this because Erik can just pray that it might be at least partly because of him.

And now Erik has hope.

Right before the moment they were separated Erik never even considered the possibility that Charles might be interested in him. Maybe this was due to the fact that Erik never considered that somebody like Charles who fit in so well—a footballer on top of that—might be gay. It’s troubling him now, because doesn’t that make him almost as bad as all the idiots who mark someone down as gay because he  _ doesn’t  _ enjoy football?

It’s true though that Charles never told him, and Erik can’t really blame him for that either. Charles has seen the way Erik was treated, when the others only suspected him to be gay. Obviously he didn’t want to be treated the same way, but still...he shouldn’t have to hide. It shouldn’t be a problem. It’s just wrong that they’ve got to hide who they really are in order to live a normal and quiet life. 

Erik wouldn’t mind really—there’s no way they’ll accept him whatever he does. If Charles loved him back he’d be happy to tell the whole world about it. He wouldn’t be scared to hold hands in public or kiss (even the thought of that makes his stomach flutter and his cock twitch). Anyone who’d have a problem with that wouldn’t be worth his time. They could go fuck themselves.

Charles is different though. He’s got a lot to lose. He’s so popular, everyone looks up to him. Erik doubts that Charles would want to risk that, and anyway—just because Charles is interested in men doesn’t mean he’s interested in Erik, does it?

The guy on that magazine cover was muscular, athletic, just like Charles. Without a doubt all the guys in there looked like that, not like the lanky, ginger weird boy that Erik is (to be fair though, it’s a porn magazine, and guys in porn magazines in general are rarely lanky and ginger). However often Erik tells himself that Charles probably sees in him nothing more than a good friend though, he can’t help  _ hoping.  _ Just the fact that it’s no longer  _ impossible _ makes his mind go crazy with fantasies, and the simultaneously wonderful and terrible thing is that they don’t seem quite as far-fetched anymore.

There’s no denying the fact either that Charles’ and Erik’s friendship is special. Even before Erik found out that Charles likes men he knew that Charles enjoyed being in his company. There was no other time that he witnessed Charles laugh as loudly and freely or smile as warmly and widely as when it was just the two of them together, so maybe that means…

He can’t know for sure though, and so Erik aches to see Charles again, to finally be able to watch his friend’s behaviour for clues, to find out whether there’s even the slightest chance that Charles might like him back.

Sure, he could ask him now, just send him a text and get it all out in the open, but that just doesn’t feel right. It feels like a cowardly thing to do, and Erik’s not a coward. No, he wants to do this right, and he doesn’t want to ruin what they have. If within the next few weeks he doesn’t get the feeling that Charles is interested in him, he’ll just have to get over it. There’s no way he’ll risk their friendship. If Charles does seem to be interested however...well. This prospect is both terrifying and exciting.

Edie of course notices that something’s different, but Erik would have been surprised if she hadn’t. Sometimes he’s not comfortable with her questions at all. These are the times that he makes an excuse to go back to his room, where he takes out his phone and sends Charles a text, hoping to hear back from him soon (and he’s never disappointed there—it never takes Charles longer than five minutes to answer). His mother is always disappointed when this happens, Erik knows it, and he also knows how surprised she is whenever the opposite happens. Whenever Erik’s in a hopeful mood and just can’t help gushing about Charles.

“He’s so clever. I don’t think there’s anything he doesn’t know. It’s incredible. I bet he’ll become a world famous scientist or something.”

There’s a tiny smile on his mother’s lips. “I thought he was an athlete.”

“Yeah, he is. The best. Honestly, our team would be nothing without him.”

“He sounds like a great person.”

“He is. And he’s amazing at chess. I only managed to beat him once or twice.”

She looks amused now. “He must be a genius then. I’m glad you found such a wonderful friend, Erik. I thought he was incredibly charming when I talked to him.”

“Oh, you’d love him.”

She laughs. “I’m sure I would. Just like you do.”

It’s lucky she gets up to make some more tea at that moment because Erik’s cheeks must be burning bright red.

Erik knows his mother is teasing him, but it’s in a good-natured way, so he doesn’t mind much. Or at least he doesn’t in those moments that he feels really hopeful, that he manages to convince himself that Charles could love him back, that they could be together, that they could be  _ boyfriends. _ In those moments he actually enjoys her teasing and can’t help grinning, which makes her laugh in turn. 

Whenever he feels uncertain however, angry at himself for getting his own hopes up, worried that Charles could never see in him more than a friend, he can’t bear to hear her teasing tone, because it feels like she’s mocking him, even though he knows that’s not her intention.

His mother never once asks Erik about his feelings for Charles forthright though, and he never tells her either, but by the time he says goodbye again, his bag over his shoulder as he hugs her tightly and allows her to kiss his cheek, he knows that she’s got a pretty good idea of what’s going on, and she doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, she seems thrilled, which is nice to know, in case everything goes well and he and Charles do end up dating.

God, he really shouldn’t get so hopeful...

 

When Erik gets back to their room at St. John’s, Charles is already there, sitting cross-legged on his bed and beaming at him. It almost makes Erik forget how tired he is after his long journey, and he’s amazed at how alert Charles looks even though he had an even longer journey.

“How long have you been here already?” Erik asks, dropping his duffle bag on his bed.

Charles shrugs. “A few hours. I was the first one back. It was really dull. And empty. I missed you here.”

Erik quickly turns to face his bed in order to hide the fact that his face must be flushed bright red.  _ Charles missed him.  _ He clears his throat, trying very hard not to sound as though his heart is dancing the polka. “You were in here all the time?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I wanted to be here when you arrive, you know, so…”

Erik can’t help himself. He half turns to see Charles absentmindedly playing with the seam of his bed linen.  _ Fuck, _ he looks good. Is his hair softer than before the holidays? And how is it possible that his lips seem even redder than before?

Charles looks up again, and Erik instantly finds himself entranced by those incredibly blue eyes again. God, he could stare at them forever. He missed them so much. If only he could read them though, find out how their owner feels about him. Because he needs to know. He needs to know if there’s a chance.

“Fancy a game?” 

Erik has to force himself back to reality.  _ Don’t act like an idiot. He’s your friend, not your boyfriend. Yet.   _ “Sure, let me find my set.”

Erik loses spectacularly of course. 

Charles is quite amused, and Erik is highly embarrassed by his inability to stay focused, but he just can’t help watching Charles intently for any sign to indicate that he might be interested in him. Charles, however, just seems extremely focused, fixated on winning, and so he practically wipes Erik off the board within less than an hour.

Charles grins in an annoyingly smug and yet endearing manner as he knocks Erik’s king over, slapping him playfully on the upper arm. “You’re well out of practice, man. You’ve got to put more effort into this if you want to beat me.” He lifts his arms in a kind of mock victory pose.

Erik laughs, though he can already feel his cheeks burning again. Charles is such a huge and adorable idiot, especially when he tries to be cocky. Erik would love nothing more than to scramble on the bed and kiss the smug expression away though; it just seems like the perfect response. It would definitely surprise Charles, who seems entirely unaware of the fact that Erik can’t look at him without getting a boner. Right now, Erik’s just glad that his crotch is hidden by the desktop…

Later in bed Erik’s a tiny bit annoyed with himself. He’s worked out how he feels about Charles a long time ago—that’s not what’s confusing him. He knows that he wants Charles, but getting continuously distracted by his own fantasies won’t get him any closer to finding out Charles’ feelings. So he needs to stay focused. He needs to concentrate. He needs to find out whether there’s the slimmest chance that Charles might like him back.

And so, it begins.

The next days Erik makes sure to change into more comfortable clothes after dinner. He’s never really bothered to do that before, but now he switches his white school shirt for a well-fitting-bordering-on-tight t-shirt and his ugly black school trousers for rather low riding sweatpants as soon as they’re back in their room. He makes sure to change with his back to Charles as usual (he doesn’t want to be too obvious), but he takes his time, usually talking to Charles while he does it, sometimes wiggling his arse a little more than necessary when he changes his trousers.

Erik thinks he sometimes notices a slight quiver in Charles’ voice when they talk while he changes, and that sometimes it takes Charles just a few seconds to answer when he asks him a question, but when he turns around, Charles is never looking at his arse, always busy doing something else. Maybe it’s just Eriks hopeful imagination.

When they play chess, Erik now chooses to pull up a leg on the chair to rest his arms and head on it while he contemplates his next move. He’s fully aware that this makes his t-shirt ride up on his back and reveal the waistband of his boxers, and he thinks he sees Charles’ eyes slip to that spot and back again several times, though he can’t be  _ sure _ because he obviously can’t properly look at Charles. Sometimes he also dares to lean back in his chair and stretch so that his t-shirt reveals his navel and his lower abdomen. He’s sure he sees Charles’ eyes flicker in the direction of his groin for a moment at least once. This has to mean something, doesn’t it?

After Erik’s tried all these things for several days he’s almost sure that there must be something more than friendship lingering between them. If it’s the fact that Charles seems distracted whenever Erik stretches or shows off parts of his body, that he determinedly looks somewhere else when Erik changes, that he blushed when Erik accidentally-on-purpose brushed his leg against his as he sat down next to him the day before—all these things make Erik’s hopes surge, even though something still holds him back. The tiniest hint of fear that he might be wrong, that his besotted mind is making him see all those things, when in fact they mean nothing, keeps interfering whenever he feels ready to talk to Charles, to ask him. So Erik doesn’t do anything, he just keeps up what he’s been doing all those days before. He’s not even sure if he’s just doing it to reassure himself, or maybe even to signal to Charles his own interest in the hope that Charles will take the first step.

 

Erik’s not really sure what causes it—perhaps he’s been hyped up all week but trying to ignore it—but one Friday night, just as they’re about to go to bed, he’s overcome by a sudden recklessness. Charles has already changed into his pyjamas ( _ fuck, _ do they cling nicely to his thighs, arms and and shoulders by the way) and is sitting on his bed, when Erik throws himself, belly first onto Charles’ blanket, grinning. 

“I’m not tired yet. Fancy another game?”

Charles raises one eyebrow. “Erik, it’s past midnight. I’ve got team practice in the morning.”

Erik rolls over on his back, his head coming to rest on Charles’ thigh. He thinks he hears Charles inhale sharply. “Come on. Please. Just one game,” he says, looking up at his friend. He’s sure he’s not imagining that blush on Charles’ cheeks.

Charles sighs, though it sounds a bit shaky. “Fine. Okay.”

Grinning, Erik pushes himself up to get the chessboard. He doesn’t set it up on the desk, however, but places it between them on Charles’ bed, then lies down on his side, his head propped up on his elbow, facing Charles. “You first.”

Charles opens his mouth, then closes it again. Erik can see his eyes flicker down to the spot of naked skin just below Erik’s navel, before he quickly looks at the board again. Charles swallows. “Right.”

They play, but Erik hardly pays attention to the game. He doesn’t really care whether he wins or loses this match, it’s not about chess anymore. It doesn’t matter anyway because Charles seems just as distracted as Erik is. Erik’s sure if they recorded this game and rewatched it they’d both be horrified by the mistakes they made, but it just doesn’t matter right now.

All Erik cares about are Charles’ eyes, unable to stop themselves from wandering to the bit of exposed skin on Erik’s lower abdomen, the bit where a fine trail of dark hair leads to his crotch, before they abruptly snap back again. Charles’ lips, which are parted slightly, his tongue flicking out to lick them occasionally, though he doesn’t seem to notice himself doing it. His hands, which he keeps carefully folded across his lap when he doesn’t move a piece on the board.

Erik accidentally-on-purpose places his hand on his own hip and begins trailing his fingers across the skin stretching above his hip bone. Charles swallows again.

Erik moves his queen, though he has no idea whether it’s a good move or a catastrophic one, and allows his hand to travel a little further down, coming to rest just below his navel. His little finger is now placed so low, it would probably touch the base of his cock if he weren’t wearing sweatpants.

Charles makes a sudden move and the chessboard slips off the bed with a clatter. “Shit. I—” Charles pulls his legs closer to his body. His cheeks are burning red. “I’m sorry. I—I should go to bed. I’ll just—you can go to sleep already. I’ll be right back.”

He jumps up and is out of the door within seconds.

Erik just stares after him. What the hell just happened? He’s still hyped up, but the worry that he might have crossed some kind of line is starting to creep up on him now. _ Shit. _ He freaked Charles out, didn’t he? Whatever is going on in Charles’ mind right now Erik really can’t know, but he definitely caused Charles to flee the room and that can’t be good, can it? Was it maybe too much too quickly?

Erik felt so confident all the while. He was  _ sure _ that Charles was interested, that he liked what he saw, but maybe Charles felt pressured? Maybe he thought Erik was trying to mock him or something? Try to wiggle his secret out of him so he could make fun of him?  _ Fuck. _

Erik rubs his eyes and groans in frustration. Why does he always have to fuck everything up? He should have just straight out asked Charles instead of playing this stupid game. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck.  _ He’ll have to find Charles and make sure they’re okay. Apologise. Anything. Going to bed now, before Charles is back, isn’t an option, even though Charles told him to. There’s no way he can sleep, not with his mind racing like this. And they have to talk about this, or things will be bloody awkward in the morning. If Charles doesn’t already hate him for being such a dick.  _ Fuck. _

Erik slips out of the door into the dark, empty, and completely silent corridor. It looks as though everyone’s gone to bed, or that they’re in their rooms at least. Well, it’s past one in the morning, so that’s not that surprising. Charles is nowhere to be seen, but Erik didn’t really expect him to be in the corridor anyway. Well, there are only so many places that Charles could be right now...

Erik reaches the toilets first, but as he opens the door it immediately becomes apparent that Charles is not there. The room is completely dark and the doors of the few cubicles stand wide open. The changing room leading to the showers is also empty and dark, but there’s a small pile of clothes lying on the bench which look very much like Charles’ pyjamas, and the sound of water splashing coming from the shower room beyond. 

Without even considering the possibility that this might be a terrible idea, his mind just so focused on finding Charles and making sure that everything between them is okay, Erik pulls open the door to the shower room and enters.

It’s just as dark as the changing room. Charles hasn’t switched on the lights, but Erik hardly notices this as he rushes along the dark corridor towards the sound of the shower.

“Charl—” he begins, but everything he was going to say gets stuck in his throat as he finally turns the corner and sees his friend.

Charles is standing under the stream of water, completely naked, his left hand against the tiled wall to steady himself, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, while his right hand works his cock furiously.

Erik is frozen to the spot. He knows he should look away, probably leave before Charles notices him there, but he’s unable to do either of these things. It’s as though he’s stepped into one of his nightly fantasies, only better, more real, more beautiful than anything he could have imagined, but also worse because it becomes more and more apparent to him that he’s acting like a fucking creep standing there. He can’t help it though, his cock grows hard at the sight, quicker than ever before, and an involuntary gasp escapes his throat.

Charles almost slips on the wet floor as he spins around at the sound. He can only just steady himself against the wall with both his hands, and when he looks up he stares at Erik in horror. “Ah—I—fu—Erik, I—” he splutters, quickly trying to hide his still hard cock with both his hands.

They stare at each other for a moment, the water still streaming down Charles’ gorgeous athlete’s body and into his mouth which stands open as he breathes heavily. Charles swallows. Erik can see his Adam’s apple move.

It only takes him three large steps to reach Charles and pull him closer and then their lips are touching, and that’s Charles’ hand in his hair, Charles’ tongue in his mouth, and water everywhere. Erik lets his hands slip down Charles’ back to his arse and cups his cheeks and squeezes and Charles  _ keens,  _ and Erik’s probably making all kinds of indecent noises too, but he doesn’t care because this is Charles in his arms.  _ Charles.  _ Who’s now yanking Erik’s soaking sweatpants down along with his boxers and who wastes no time putting his hand on Erik’s cock. And Erik finds Charles’ cock between them and touches it and puts his hand around it too, and the angle is weird and he’s never touched another guy’s dick before and doesn’t know how best to do it, but it doesn’t matter because they’re both so close in any case that it takes hardly any time at all before they both gasp and quiver and Erik’s knees almost give out beneath him, but Charles pulls him close, and so he doesn’t drop to the hard tiled floor and hit his already buzzing head. 

But the most overwhelming moment—the one that almost sends Erik to his knees for real—is probably a few seconds later when Charles pulls him close and kisses him again, slowly this time, and Erik’s not sure—it’s impossible to tell because of the water still streaming down—but he thinks Charles is crying softly, and Erik thinks he can hear him quietly sob his name.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) is amazing!

When Erik is woken only a few hours later by the alarm on Charles’ phone, he’s not immediately sure whether he’s just been dreaming. It all seems almost too good to be true. As soon as he looks around and sees his still wet clothes hanging over the back of his chair, he knows it wasn’t just a dream though.  _ It really happened. _

Usually Erik would stay in bed on a Saturday, but today he chooses to get up and have breakfast with Charles instead. There’s usually no use talking to Charles before he hasn’t had his morning tea, so Erik doesn’t even try, though, to be honest, he’s not sure what to say anyway. 

What do you say to your best friend after you followed him into the shower the previous night and wanked each other off?

They get dressed in silence, then walk to the door together, but just before Erik can put his hand on the door handle, Charles grabs him by his neck and pulls him close, pressing his lips to Erik’s. Erik’s ready to rip Charles’ clothes off again within seconds, but by that time Charles has already released him again. Breathing more heavily than usual, Charles’ mouth curls into a smile. “Let’s go,” he says, and before Erik can respond (though he probably wouldn’t be able to get out a word anyway) Charles has pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor.

Breakfast is tough. Erik forces down some food, though he can hardly swallow, all the while trying to act as though nothing special is going on because that’s exactly what Charles is doing. It’s extraordinary really how little Charles lets show. He chats away happily as though this was a completely normal morning, not even a hint that he just kissed Erik, and not a sign that the most amazing thing happened between them the night before.

It’s obvious to Erik why he does this—Erik doesn’t want anyone else to know either, at least not yet—but still it kind of hurts how easily Charles can hide it all away. It looks as though he’s not affected by it in the slightest, and even though Erik  _ tries _ to act the same, he finds it much harder. He just can’t help the mental images of last night popping up in his head. He can’t help staring at Charles’ lips, remembering exactly what they felt against his, and he definitely can’t forget the sounds that Charles made when Erik touched his cock…

Erik follows Charles to football practice as usual and suffers even more as Charles stretches before him, displaying his gorgeous arse that Erik’s  _ touched _ with his bare hands the night before, but completely naked, which he won’t forget that easily. The only sign that Charles still acknowledges what happened between them though is a mischievous grin that he throws at Erik when he straightens up again, but in the next moment he’s off on the pitch and team practice begins.

Watching Charles play is even more torturous than usual. It’s freezing cold, which is not really a surprise as it’s January, and everything is just so confusing. Erik can’t stop thinking about the night before, and whenever Charles looks at him and smiles his heart starts beating fast in his chest. His mind is racing all the while, occupied by images of Charles, naked, before him; waves of desire surge but with them a growing worry.

They haven’t really talked about the whole thing yet. The night before, after they came back from the shower room, they just stumbled back into their bedroom where they shared a last kiss and then both went to bed. And Charles has since seemed totally relaxed about it, which Erik is not in the least. Why doesn’t Charles seem affected by this? Is that because the whole thing means much less to Charles than it does to Erik? Or is Charles just really good at hiding stuff? Is Erik overanalysing things? He tends to do that sometimes...

Instead of going straight back to their room after team practice is over, like he usually would, Erik waits near the changing rooms for Charles. For once he doesn’t feel like tossing off after watching Charles play, and not only because he got off the night before. In fact, he’s nervous, to the point of feeling a little sick.

Charles seems surprised but pleased to see Erik standing there. The smile on his face as he spots Erik makes up for when Shaw passed him minutes before and slammed his bag into Erik’s stomach, the bloody bastard. Erik can’t help his stupid heart leaping at the sight of Charles’ smile. He’s loved it from the moment he saw it directed at himself for the first time.

They walk to their room in silence, Erik suppressing the mad desire to take Charles’ hand in the corridor. It’s extremely hard though, because it seems as though there’s a magnet attached to Charles’ fingers, causing Erik’s hand to softly brush against them with almost every step. Actually taking Charles’ hand would be almost suicidal though, and it would drag Charles down too, which Erik doesn’t want. He doesn’t want Charles to suffer for this. He never wants Charles to suffer. So why is it so important to him that Charles betrays some kind of sign that acknowledges what happened between them? It’s dangerous, Erik knows it, so the better they’re both at hiding it, the safer they will be. He should be glad that Charles seems so adept at it. And yet, it still bothers him for some reason.

It’s all forgotten again though when, as soon as Charles has closed their bedroom door behind himself, he pushes Erik backwards onto his bed and clambers up to straddle his thighs. 

“Take this off,” Charles orders, and in a combined effort they pull Erik’s warm jacket off of him. Almost immediately Charles’ hand is in Erik’s hair and their lips are once again pressed together, and Erik’s heart leaps once more as he puts his hands on Charles’ hips. 

Erik’s never been kissed like this before, which is actually not surprising since he’s only had one girlfriend in his life, and that was before his father died. They were both 14 and had no idea what to do with each other’s bodies. This is different. Though Erik still doesn’t really know what he’s doing, Charles definitely does. There’s so much confidence in the way his lips move, the way his fingers card through Erik’s hair, that Erik doesn’t even have to think about what he’s doing. It’s like a dance, and Charles is leading. Erik just has to go along with it, and follow the skillful steps set by Charles’ tongue. 

It feels so good for Erik to give himself over to Charles so completely. Charles smells good, his hair is still slightly wet from the shower, and his body is warm everywhere Erik touches him. Erik puts both hands around Charles’ back and pulls him closer, and feels like he never wants to let go again. This is the real thing, everything he wants in life. Charles’ smell, his lips, his hands in Erik’s hair, and his weight on Erik’s thighs. And then Charles moves slightly and a soft gasp escapes Erik’s lips as Charles’ groin rubs lightly against his hardening cock trapped in his trousers. Charles deepens the kiss even more and Erik pulls him closer, pulling Charles’ shirt out of his trousers to allow his hands to slip onto warm and soft skin, and further up, higher and higher, causing Charles’ shirt to ride up on his back, before—

“Stop. Erik—stop!” Charles breaks the kiss and pushes himself back, his hands on Erik’s shoulders.

“Wh—why?” Erik’s still slightly dazed and only just catching his breath. “Wh—you don’t want this?”

Charles is also breathing heavily, but he still manages to smile warmly. “I do. Believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather—but it’s the middle of the day. Anyone could come in at any moment. Taking off our clothes would not be... prudent.”

Charles does have a point of course, but that doesn’t exactly make Erik less annoyed with the situation—or Erik’s cock any less desperate for touch. “So what do we do?” he asks stupidly.

Charles raises his eyebrows. “Not...get naked, I suppose? I mean—we could still—” He blushes furiously, which makes Erik want to push him backwards onto the bed and climb on top of him. “Or we could just...talk, or...play chess?”

Erik closes his eyes for a moment, groaning internally. It’s fucking 11 am. If they can’t dare do more than kiss while anyone else could come in, they’ll probably have to wait another 12 hours. And in the meantime...well, they do need to talk...but maybe playing chess is the better option, and they could talk while they play? 

“Let’s play chess,” he nods and Charles smiles, clambering off of Erik’s lap and thereby showing off his magnificent backside. Fuck, those are going to be  _ long _ 12 hours.

Their chess match is definitely of better quality than the one the night before. Yes, they share smiles and chaste kisses every now and again, and Erik can’t help staring at Charles’ thighs and crotch a lot of the time, but they’re both no longer trying to hide it, and that definitely improves their ability to concentrate. They don’t talk a lot however, even though Erik knows that it would be best to clear up once and for all what they both want out of this. It’s just—right at this moment he doesn’t feel worried in the least. The looks that Charles throws him are full of warmth, his smiles happy and affectionate, and his kisses...right now Erik can’t imagine that Charles wants this any less than him, so why talk about it?

It’s still kind of weird though. The same time yesterday they were friends, nothing more, and now, without having exchanged even a single word about it they’re what...boyfriends? Lovers? Partners? What are they? It seems hard to pin down considering all they have rests on those few moments they had in the shower the night before.

After lunch Charles declares he’s got homework to do, and so they sit down on the floor, worksheets spread around them, and study. Charles is right, of course. They’ve got their final exams coming up in a few months and letting it all slide just before it really matters would be idiotic. Not to mention that they can’t really do anything else anyway, because it’s fucking cold and wet outside, and they’ve still got several hours until they can safely assume that nobody’s going to barge in on them. It still sucks though. School work is never fun, and even less so if you’re sitting next to the one person whose clothes you want to tear off so badly that you can barely think about anything else.

Erik has never been as happy to hear the bell signaling dinner time. They pack up their stuff, then walk to the door, where Charles actually _ pinches Erik’s arse _ right before he pulls the handle and walks past Erik with a smirk. It takes all of Erik’s self-constraint not to pull Charles back inside and kiss that smug look off of his face. 

At dinner Erik can hardly get anything down again. It’s as though his whole body is bubbling with excitement, arousal, and worry all at once, including his stomach. He finds it hard to think about anything else other than what happened the night before, what almost happened earlier that same day, and what might happen soon after dinner. In order to stop himself from staring longingly at Charles across the table, he chooses to stare at his plate instead, picking at his food and only occasionally nodding at something Charles says. Charles on the other hand is once again back to being his usual inscrutable self, not a sign that anything special is going on. He shoves food into his mouth, he laughs, he chats away—and even though Erik is quite convinced now that for some reason Charles is just extremely good at hiding what’s going on inside him, it unnerves him once more. Erik loves Charles, more than anyone else in the world—though Charles doesn’t need to know that yet—but he likes the  _ real _ version of Charles, the one that appears when they’re alone together, much better than this version meant for everyone else.

It doesn’t get better when Shaw and the rest of the team stroll over to their table and gather around Charles, completely ignoring and excluding Erik by sitting down on the table with their backs to him. They start jeering and bellowing loudly, making all kinds of idiotic and offensive remarks, always followed by loud laughter from the other imbeciles. Erik sits there listening to their crap for a few minutes, his fists getting clenched more tightly by the second, his ears burning hotter with every stupid thing they say, but when Charles doesn’t emerge from their midst after a while, he just gets up and leaves. At least he didn’t hear Charles say anything, though he’s sure he heard him laugh a few times.

Erik returns to their bedroom just in time to hear his phone ringing on his bed. He’d almost forgotten that it’s Saturday, otherwise he’d have been waiting for his mother to call.

“Hallo, Mama.”

_ “Hallo, mein Schatz.” _

It’s good to hear her voice. Really good. He throws himself on the bed and rubs his eyes. God, he’s tired. He’s hardly slept the night before, but that’s probably not the only reason.

_ “How are you, love? Any news?” _

_ Yes, Charles and I made out and now I think we might be together, but he still hangs out with the fucking homophobic arseholes, and I really don’t know what to make of that. _ “Not much. It’s only been a week.”

_ “You sound tired.” _

Erik sighs. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

There’s a pause at his mother’s end.  _ “Is everything okay? Did you and Charles have a fight?” _

_ Fuck. _ He needs to be more careful. “No, no, nothing like that. We just—stayed up late, that’s all.”

Another pause.  _ “You know can talk to me about everything, Erik, don’t you?” _

Erik swallows. She’s right. He knows he could talk to her about anything. She’s always listened, never judged him. She just  _ gets _ him, and for a moment everything that’s on his mind is on his tongue and he’s about to spill it all to her, get everything that’s weighing on him heavily off his chest—and then the impulse is suddenly gone again. He bites his lip. “There’s nothing, Mama. Everything’s good.”

After Erik hangs up he just lies in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling. He’s even more tired now. He could probably go straight to sleep if he tried—or maybe not, because there’s still so much going on in his head that he could mull over all night. 

Erik sighs and rolls over onto his stomach, grabbing his pillow with both arms and burying his face into it. He should be happy, excited, over the moon now, shouldn’t he? After all, he’s been hoping for this to happen for weeks, and now it’s here. Charles actually likes him back, they’ve made out, Charles has kissed him several times, and there’s so much they can still explore—and he  _ is _ happy about this. Thinking about kissing Charles, touching him, makes his pulse race even now. He’d want nothing more than to spend all day in their room, preferably naked, and just be with Charles. That would be the best thing in the world, and yet—why do they have to be  _ here? _ Around Shaw and the other idiots, where everything they do, everything they  _ are _ is considered wrong, filthy, and shameful. And  _ why _ does Charles have to be a part of the very same community that forces them to hide?

It’s 10:30 pm when Charles finally comes back, but Erik still hasn’t moved.

Charles sighs and throws himself on Erik’s bed next to him. “Sorry I’m so late,” he mumbles, placing a soft kiss on Erik’s ear. “I couldn’t leave early or they might have suspected something.”

Erik doesn’t say anything, or move. It’s quiet for a while, then Erik suddenly feels tender fingers carding through his hair.

“Are you okay?” There’s concern in Charles’ voice.

With some effort Erik rolls to his side to look at Charles. His eyes are even more beautiful in the soft light from Erik’s bedside lamp. Erik’s not sure what to say to him though. He’s not angry, and it’s not as though Charles did anything wrong, but he can’t pretend he’s not...upset, in a way. “Why do you still have to hang around with those idiots?”

Charles’ eyes widen in apparent surprise. “Who are you talking about?”

Erik frowns. Is Charles kidding right now? “Well, Shaw and...his cronies.”

It’s Charles’ turn to frown now. “They’re on my team.”

“Yeah, I know, but...the things they say—do you really like them?”

Charles sighs. “I know you hate them, especially Sebastian. And I know he can be—well—I guess he can be unkind sometimes, but—”

“He can be  _ unkind sometimes?”  _ Erik stares at Charles in disbelief. “Do you hear yourself right now? He’s a dick, Charles, worse than that. He’s a—a—” Erik wracks his mind to think of a word harsh enough to describe his worst enemy. “A fucking  _ monster. _ That’s what he is.”

“No, come on. That’s a bit—”

“Do you have any idea what he’s like? What he’s  _ done? _ Have you ever heard him talk?” Erik interrupts, his ears burning with hardly suppressed anger now. “All the things he says about people who—people like—like  _ us.” _

Charles swallows, staring down at Erik’s pillow. “Everyone says these things, Erik. If I decided not to speak to anyone who does—well—who’d be left?”

There’s silence between them again, while Erik just stares at Charles, who keeps looking down and not meeting his eyes. There’s definite sadness in Charles’ face, but also something like...acceptance? Erik doesn’t know what to say to him, or what to feel even. He doesn’t even know whether he’s still angry or not. He just keeps staring at Charles until he looks back up. 

“I’m glad I met you, Erik,” says Charles in a quiet voice. “Honestly, you’re—you’re the best that’s ever happened to me.”

Erik can’t help himself. He leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Charles’ lips. They’re so incredibly red and soft, and Charles’ hand in Erik’s hair is so tender, and yet demanding, it makes Erik forget everything else almost at once. 

It doesn’t take long for the chaste kiss to turn into something messy, into gasps and moans and teeth and tongues, and before Erik knows it he’s shed his shirt and is unbuttoning Charles’ too. Before long they’re writhing on the bed, both shirtless and Erik half on top of Charles, their legs intertwined, and Erik lets his hand travel over Charles’ chest and stomach, touching soft creamy skin and  _ freckles _ that he’s never even noticed before, while he can feel Charles’ hand slip into his trousers and boxers and cup his arse cheek, and it makes him go almost crazy with desire. Then Charles suddenly breaks the kiss and half rolls them over so they’re facing each other before he begins trailing kisses down Erik’s neck, then sits up on his knees, and allows his lips to travel further down, his hand still inside Erik’s boxers, but also wandering down to the small patch of skin between Erik’s arse and his balls, and Charles  _ rubs _ it, and Erik gasps loudly, though he should try to be quiet, but he doesn’t really care anymore.

There’s a part of Erik that half feels bad for just lying there and doing nothing, but another part of him that doesn’t give a fuck because he’s never felt as good as he does now, as Charles unbuttons and pulls off his trousers along with his boxers and settles between his legs, his one hand underneath Erik’s arse, rubbing along that patch of skin. It feels so  _ good, _ but isn’t nearly enough, because although Charles’ other hand is on Erik’s balls and it’s great Erik  _ needs _ him to put a hand on his cock now or he’ll go crazy, and that’s exactly when Charles licks along his length and it’s a miracle Erik doesn’t come right there. When Charles swallows down Erik’s cock, Erik half registers his amazement at how  _ skilled _ Charles seems at doing this, as though he’s been doing this for years, but then he just can’t do anything but try and suppress his moans, which doesn’t really work, and it doesn’t take long until he arches his back and grabs Charles’ shoulders tightly as he comes into Charles’ mouth.

Erik is still breathing heavily when Charles is suddenly next to him again, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. Erik can taste something unknown, slightly salty and bitter at the same time, and then it hits him what it must be, but he can’t do anything other than stare at Charles in awe. Charles has never looked more beautiful, his eyes shining, his lips redder than ever before and his cheeks blushed pink. And Erik pulls him closer again to kiss him and reaches down to unbutton Charles’ trousers and slip his hand inside them.

As Erik watches Charles fall apart by the touch of his hand, his eyes still fixed on Erik’s face, his pupils blown, but still full of warmth, there’s no way he’s going to worry about anything. Erik places kiss after kiss on Charles lips, feeling him moan and quiver underneath his touch, and when Charles finally cries out softly, Erik pulls him even closer and holds him tight, not ever wanting to let go again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Biiiig thanks to [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!

Time goes by and by the point when the quarter final of the football cup arrives, Erik and Charles have been a couple in secret for almost four weeks.

It’s not perfect —how could it be with Shaw and the other dickheads around meaning that they always have to be careful not to let anything show—but Erik nevertheless can’t suppress a proud smile when he watches Charles walk onto the pitch among cheers from the rest of the school as well as friends and family of a few of the players. Erik’s never felt as though this was  _ his _ team. Frankly, he never gave a fuck whether they won or lost (he might have even hoped that they lose, just so he could see Shaw upset), but now he gets swept away by the general excitement around him for the first time, and he can’t help feeling nervous and a little tense for Charles’ sake.

Obviously Charles is the best player on the field. He outdribbles his opponents with such ease that Erik can’t help smirking at their stupid faces (and why he knows a word like “outdribble” is anyone’s guess…), Charles is everywhere, running back and forth, and he ends up scoring three of their team’s five goals and preparing the other two. Even though Erik hates football (he really does!) he can’t help proudly thinking  _ ‘This is my boyfriend.’ _

When the referee’s whistle signals the end of the match, Charles ends up in a huddle with all the other players patting him on the back, hugging him and ruffling his hair. Erik feels like pushing them all away and telling them to get their filthy hands off of his boyfriend, especially Shaw, who pulls Charles close and actually  _ kisses _ him on the top of his head, before he bellows loudly in triumph—leaving Erik torn between the desire to rip Shaw’s head off and the urge to laugh out loud at his hypocrisy. So the only time that kissing a guy isn’t gay is after he’s won you a football match? 

The worst part comes a little later though, when Mr. Hughes—probably elated by his school team’s success—allows them all to celebrate their victory in a nearby pub. Erik joins them, though only because of Charles who can’t really say no when he’s the centre of all the attention. It turns out to be even worse than expected though when everyone (apart from Erik) gets smashed and their moronic, desperately masculine behaviour reaches a new high (or low, depending on the perspective). They end up yelling and bellowing idiotic, offensive songs all night, not even stopping inside the coach which takes them back to school. It’s nothing less than embarrassing.

Erik can tell that Charles _ tries _ to stay sober, but the others keep pushing drinks at him, and so he ends up downing several pints of lager and falling asleep on Erik’s shoulder on the coach. The others hardly notice this as they’re so busy being complete and utter dickheads again, but Erik’s sure he can see Shaw’s eyes flicker in their direction more than once, accompanied by a frown…

Charles’ body is fucking heavy when Erik half-drags, half-carries him back to their room, but he doesn’t really care. It’s actually quite nice to have a reason to hold on tightly to his boyfriend in public for once, even if he’s pissed as a fart.

Charles slumps down on the bed like a wet rag and Erik leans down to pull off his boyfriend’s shoes. Before he can walk over to his own bed however, Charles has grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him closer again.

“Erik,”  he slurs. 

Well, so at least he understands part of what’s going on. Erik tries to gently free himself but Charles holds on more tightly than Erik would have thought possible.

“C’mere.” Charles sounds half asleep and his eyes are barely open.

Erik can’t suppress an amused smile. “Go to sleep, Charles.”

Charles mumbles something unintelligible. Erik would ignore it and go to bed himself (it’s long past midnight and he’s really tired), but Charles doesn’t seem to want to let go of his arm.

He sighs. “What is it, Charles?”

Charles keeps mumbling incoherently, but there are a few words that Erik can just make out. 

“Love you...Erik.” Charles’ arm finally drops down and his eyes slid completely shut.

Even though he’s free to walk away now, Erik stands there, staring at his boyfriend, for several more minutes, hardly able to believe what he just heard and unsure whether he hasn’t just imagined it.

“Good night, Charles,” he finally whispers before he turns around and starts to get changed.

 

They don’t talk about it at all over the following few days. The morning after Charles is terribly hungover and cares about nothing but being left alone and in peace all day. The day after that they’re back to being the way they were, and Erik can’t bring himself to ask Charles whether he meant what he said, or whether he even remembers saying it.

The more time passes the less sure Erik is that he’s really heard what he thought he heard, and even if he did...Charles was fucking hammered. He might be one of those people that just get really emotional when they’re drunk. Erik’s uncle is like this. He likes to tell everyone that he loves them whenever he’s had a few too many, and it doesn’t mean shit.

So Erik tries to push the whole matter to the back of his mind, because what does it matter anyway? He’s got Charles. They’ve got each other. And Erik knows one thing for sure: Charles definitely enjoys being touched by him. So much, in fact, that it sometimes almost makes him forget that there are other people in the school too.

“Erik,” Charles breathes out, and the sound of his own name spoken like that makes the little blood that’s still left in Erik’s head rush downwards.

It’s lunch break and they’re on Erik’s bed, both fully dressed, but with their hands down each other’s trousers. They don’t have a lot of time, lessons start again in fifteen minutes, and it’s really quite careless of them to do this in the middle of the day, but Erik doesn’t give a fuck right now, and neither does Charles as it seems.

“Erik,” he breathes again, and Erik starts moving his hand faster, as Charles’ hand on his cock, too, picks up speed.

Erik’s really close when suddenly Charles’ hand retreats and pushes him away so hard he almost tumbles from the bed. Erik can only just manage to sit up before the door springs open and Shaw and his cronies enter. 

Shaw’s eyebrows shoot up as his eyes fall on the two of them sitting next to each other on Erik’s bed.

“What’s up?” asks Charles, and Erik’ glad that he doesn’t have to say anything because he’s sure he’d sound hoarse and out of breath. Charles on the other hand once more displays his talent for acting. He doesn’t seem breathless at all, and the only thing that betrays his act is the soft tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“Team meeting. Now. My room.” Shaw’s just about to turn around and leave, when he stops again and looks back at Erik, his eyes narrowed. “Remember what I said, homo.”

Charles doesn’t even throw one glance back at Erik as he slips out of the room after his teammates. Erik knows that this is as much for Erik’s protection as Charles’ own, especially after Shaw’s little reminder to stay away from each other, but nevertheless it hurts. And it fucking sucks to constantly have to be on the alert for someone coming in. If only it were spring already and warm enough to sneak off into the woods outside—they could hide there between the trees and nobody would ever find them. But now that they can’t go outside, there’s no place where they can be sure not to be disturbed, no place where they can relax and just be themselves, and not—

Erik sits up straight, staring at the wall opposite him.  _ God, _ he’s such an  _ idiot. _ How could he forget? Did becoming Charles’ friend-first-then-boyfriend erase every memory of the last years from his mind?

There fucking  _ is _ a place that nobody but Erik knows about, where no Shaw and no other idiot will ever find them. Erik knows that because he’s been hiding there for years, and nobody’s ever disturbed him. It’s basically the perfect hideout for him and Charles. How the fuck could he forget about it when it’s so  _ obvious. _

After dinner that same day, Erik sneaks down the dark and empty corridor that he hasn’t entered for several weeks, only this time—for the first time ever—he isn’t alone. Charles trots along in his wake, looking intrigued and excited, though also a little nervous. His face lights up in amazement however when Erik pushes open the hidden door and leads him through it, before carefully closing it again behind them.

“Wow, Erik. That’s—how did you find out about this?”

Erik shrugs. “I was...running away from Shaw actually, and discovered it by accident. A few years ago.”

“It’s amazing...What’s up there?” Charles points up the wooden ladder.

Erik grins. “Just wait. It gets better.”

They climb up the two ladders and Charles positively gasps when they reach the landing at the top. Erik can’t help the very pleased expression on his face as he lights up a candle and then throws himself on the sofa. “All ours. And nobody’s gonna barge in on us here. Nobody knows about this but me. Well...now you do too.”

“All ours,” repeats Charles softly. There’s the tiniest smile on his lips as he looks around, but his eyes are shinier than Erik’s ever seen them before, and they look a little wet.

“Are you okay?” asks Erik, eyeing his boyfriend with some concern.

“Yeah.” Charles exhales a slow and shaking breath. “Sorry, I just—this is better than anything I’ve ever—it’s perfect, Erik,” he concludes, and his face finally breaks into one of those wide smiles that make Erik’s heart beat a million times faster.

“Come here.” Erik holds out his hand and Charles takes it, allowing Erik to pull him onto the sofa with him. He’s still a little tense in Erik’s arms though, and so Erik presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “Relax. Nobody will find us here. I promise.”

Charles smiles and returns the kiss. “I know, sorry. I just need to get used to this.”

Even though they technically could start making out and shed all their clothes without fear of being found out, they don’t. This is partly due to the fact that it’s really quite cold and drafty up on the landing. They’ll need to smuggle some warm blankets up here, or they’ll freeze their naked arses off. Literally. But blankets will definitely make their nest comfortable and homely.

However, that’s not the only reason why they just lie there, snuggled against each other, sharing the occasional kiss, but otherwise in silence. For the first time it doesn’t feel as though they’re in a rush. They can stay up here for hours if they want. They could even sleep here if they felt like it—though that might be a bad idea considering that Shaw or some other dick from Charles’ football team might try and wake Charles in the morning only to find his bed empty. 

Erik’s never felt as safe and  _ content _ as he does lying there with Charles. When he absentmindedly strokes a strand of hair out of his boyfriend’s face and Charles sighs quietly, Erik’s sure his heart is about to burst with happiness. He never wants to be anywhere else again.  _ This _ is what life's about. Just peace and quiet and love and  _ Charles.  _ Always Charles.

 

It’s a few days later that Charles discovers Erik’s attempts at carving. They’re snuggled up comfortably and contentedly under the blanket that Charles has managed to steal from the laundry room (“not  _ steal _ , Erik, I only  _ borrowed _ it!”), when Charles suddenly sits up and points at the small metal box. 

“What’s that?”

“Hmm?” Erik sits up too to see what Charles is pointing at. “Oh that. Just stuff I’ve been doing before I knew you.”

“Can I see?” 

But Charles has already thrown the blanket aside and hopped down from the sofa before Erik even has the chance to answer. Erik gets to enjoy the view of thin fabric stretched over Charles’ glorious backside only for a few seconds however, then Charles is back under the blanket, the box in his hands.

“You made these?” Charles takes out the little figures one by one, examining them, apparently impressed.

“Yeah. Do you like them?”

“Of course. They’re great. I could never do stuff like that. I’m all fingers and thumbs.”

Erik chuckles. “Really? I always thought you were good at everything.”

Charles shakes his head. “Nah. Football, chess and science, that’s all.” He grins at Erik. “Oh, and maybe sex, don’t you think? I’ve got no talent for art though. I’m the least creative person in the world. But you’d make a great artist. You’re really in the wrong school, aren’t you?” He adds thoughtfully after a moment.

“Hmm.” Erik watches Charles fondly as he takes out the little figures one by one and turns them around in his hands. “You know, I always thought so too. Now...not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Erik nudges Charles playfully in the ribs. “You know what I mean. Don’t make me say it.”

Charles laughs, wiggling away from Erik’s hand. “I have no idea what you mean. Please tell me.”

“It’s ‘cause of you,” Erik mumbles. He can’t quite manage to look at Charles, so  he chooses to start tickling his boyfriend in earnest instead.

“Sorry,” Charles breathes out through bursts of laughter. “I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“It’s ‘cause you’re here, you idiot,” Erik says again, feeling the blush creep up his neck. “I only like it here because of you.”

And then he’s on top of Charles and they’re kissing again, and Charles seems to want to breathe him in, so desperately is he clinging to Erik’s face. It only takes a few minutes for them to shed their clothes, and they’re back, their erections trapped between their bodies, and Charles is moving beneath him and Erik gasps as his cock slides against his boyfriend’s stomach.

“Come here,” Charles breathes out, taking Erik’s hand and guiding it downwards, underneath his body until Erik can feel the firmness of Charles’ buttock. He squeezes lightly and Charles moans loudly into his mouth. Erik almost comes right there at the sound.

Charles breaks the kiss and looks at Erik, his mouth slightly open, his breathing ragged, his eyes darker than usual. “Have you ever—?” he asks softly, squeezing Erik’s hand that he’s still holding firmly against his own buttock.

Charles doesn’t need to be more precise. Erik knows exactly what he’s talking about, and even the thought of it makes his cock twitch. He can’t get a word out, however, so he just shakes his head, swallowing.

Charles smiles, still breathing heavily. “Would you like to?”

A shaking breath escapes Erik’s mouth, but he’s unable to answer. He’s thought about this before, a lot actually, imagined what it would feel like. The thought is wonderful, exciting, arousing to the point of being almost painful, and yet it’s also kind of scary. He doesn’t want Charles to get hurt and he’s not sure he’ll be able to prevent that from happening. 

“It’s okay,” Charles says softly, pulling Erik down to kiss him again. “I know what to do. I’ll help you. You won’t hurt me, don’t worry.”

It’s as though he’s reading Erik’s mind, and yet Erik’s still not entirely sure he can do this. “Don’t we need...stuff?” he asks, feeling incredibly stupid.

Charles smiles again. “Yeah, I’ve got it all here.” He leans over the side of the sofa and fumbles with his jacket before pulling out a small bottle and a condom. “I got the large ones,” he grins.

Even though his whole body is tense with arousal and nervousness, Erik can’t help but laugh at his boyfriend’s goofy face. It breaks the tension somewhat, but maybe that’s a good thing.

Their laughter turns into kisses again, but as they begin to get more heated, Charles pulls back and fixes Erik with his eyes again. “Do you want this?”

“Yeah,” Erik manages to say, though he can feel his cheeks burning. “Do you?”

Charles nods.

Erik tries to swallow the large lump in his throat away, but it won’t go. “What do we...you know...do now?” He feels incredibly stupid. Of course he knows how this works  _ in theory _ —but he can’t quite imagine how it could  _ not _ hurt Charles. And that’s the last thing he wants.

Charles kisses him softly on the lips. “I’ll prepare myself, so it won’t hurt. Then I’ll tell you what to do, if that’s okay. But...we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. It’s fine.”

Erik’s not sure what exactly Charles means by  _ preparing himself, _ but once again it sounds as though Charles knows exactly what he’s doing, so Erik decides to trust him—so far Charles has always known what he wants after all.

When Erik sees what Charles meant, it makes his cheeks burn again. He’s not sure whether he’s supposed to look away or watch, and so his eyes keep flicking between Charles’ face and the point where his boyfriend’s lube-coated fingers keep disappearing and reappearing. Even though the sight makes his ears burn hotter than ever before, Erik can’t deny that his cock definitely likes what he sees, growing rock hard within a ridiculously short amount of time. At first he’s embarrassed by this, feeling somewhat like a creep, just watching Charles fingering himself and responding to it like he does, but then he sees the aroused and yet soft look on Charles’ face, not to mention that Charles is hard too and panting. This is okay, more than okay. This is between the two of them, and Charles is doing this solely for him, for Erik, and nobody else. The amount of  _ trust _ that Charles has in him, making himself as vulnerable as this right before Erik’s eyes...the realisation almost takes Erik’s breath away.

“Come here,” whispers Charles again after a while, pulling Erik closer to kiss him. When their lips touch, Erik’s heart is close to bursting. 

Charles positions himself on his back before Erik, then rolls the condom over Erik’s hard cock with tender, but slightly trembling fingers, before he coats it with more lube, making Erik gasp and quiver. “Ready?” Charles asks with a soft smile, though his voice is trembling slightly.

Erik nods, though he isn’t sure whether he’ll ever be ready. All he knows is that he trusts Charles, and that Charles trusts him, and so he allows Charles to position him, grab hold of his hips and direct him slowly forward.

Erik fixes his eyes on Charles’ face, unable to look away, mesmerized by his boyfriend’s large and incredibly beautiful eyes looking back at him, his slightly open mouth, and when Erik feels the pressure on the tip of his cock, he inhales sharply along with Charles, who closes his eyes, but keeps guiding Erik further.

Erik has to pull himself together right there to prevent himself from coming right at that moment, as his cock slowly slides inside that warm, tight space. But he thankfully manages to hold himself back, and so he just stares at Charles’ face, his mouth wide open, panting loudly, but not caring about it anymore, as he slides further inside until his groin is flush against Charles’ firm arse.

That’s when Charles opens his eyes again, and now they’re nothing more than two dark discs, his cheeks flushed pink, and his lips—Erik can’t help himself. He leans down and starts kissing Charles in earnest and Charles kisses him back, and though Erik didn’t plan on moving yet, it makes his cock slide out a fraction of an inch, and they both moan into each other’s mouths. Before Erik knows whether to feel bad about this because he might have hurt Charles, Charles grabs his hips even more tightly and starts moving him slowly backward and forward, and Erik can’t think anymore. 

_ This _ is it. He was wrong all those times before because _ this _ is the best feeling in the world. Charles’ sounds, his smell, and the feeling of him  _ everywhere _ wrap around Erik like a warm, wonderful blanket, while sparks shoot up and down his spine, making him moan and quiver and gasp, and he wants more of this, and simultaneously knows that this’ll mean it’ll be over soon. When he comes, far too soon, Erik gasps loudly and can only just stop himself from collapsing on top of Charles. Erik’s dimly aware that Charles is working his own cock in rapid motions before he, too, gasps, and that’s when Erik finally allows himself to slowly and carefully sink on top of his boyfriend.

They don’t talk for several minutes, but cling to each other as though trying to save one another from drowning. Erik can’t speak anyway, he can hardly even open his mouth, because his heart is definitely trying to escape through his throat. And even when he does finally open his mouth, no sounds come out, even though there are three tiny words sitting on his tongue, dying to be spoken.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!
> 
> Also, please check out the amazing [cover art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963765) the lovely [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl/works) did for this fic!

The hideout in the attic is perfect in many ways, but there are a few drawbacks. Since it’s drafty and unheated it’s fucking cold up there in the winter. Erik never minded this much because it just meant they had to be snuggled together under their warm blanket —and there’s no place he’d rather be anyway. However, as it gets warmer, there’s another problem with the place, something that made him suffer all those last summers. As soon as the sun gets stronger and the days warmer, it can get stiflingly hot, even if it’s not that hot outside. There are no windows, and it’s situated directly under the roof. The sun only needs to shine for two hours straight and the place becomes a large oven. Right now, it being April, the place alternates between being really cold and being too hot but just bearable on those few warm days. Only a month later and there will surely be days when they’ll be forced outside and into the woods to prevent getting cooked alive.

“God, I’m so hot.” 

Charles is sitting on the floor in their hideout, leaning against the sofa. They’ve only just started a game of chess, but they’re already both covered in sweat. It’s not even that warm outside, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky and their hideout is on the way to becoming a sauna.

Erik smirks. “Take your clothes off then.”

Charles raises his eyebrows. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Erik grins, but doesn’t say anything. Of course he’d like that. If it were up to him, Charles could walk around naked all day. Erik definitely wouldn’t get bored of the sight. They’ve been naked together a lot over the last weeks, but since it was so cold until recently they’ve mostly been snuggled up under the blanket, so Erik could only feel, but not see Charles’ glorious arse a lot. He’d like to change that. There’s still a ton of places Erik hasn’t had the chance to properly look at.

“I’ve got an idea,” says Charles after a moment. There’s a smug look on his face and a light gleam in his eyes. “Strip chess.”

Erik bursts out laughing. Only for a few seconds though because, as cheesy as this suggestion sounds, he can’t quite help being intrigued and excited by the idea. Plus, it really is boiling hot in there and getting some of his clothes off will definitely be an improvement.

“Alright,” he agrees.

Charles sits upright at once, grinning. “Go on then. You’ve already lost two pawns.”

Erik laughs, but removes his tie and one of his socks without protest.

From a chess player’s perspective it’s probably a terrible game. It becomes pretty apparent very soon that neither of them cares very much about winning, but that they’re both rather intent on capturing as many pieces of the other as possible while not really caring about how many they themselves lose in return. It’s fun though, and also undeniably sexy.

Soon Erik is sitting there in his boxers, while Charles is wearing only his shirt and underwear. It feels much better like this, and it’s really kind of exciting to wait for Charles to remove another piece of clothing and to watch Charles’ reaction to Erik shedding his own one by one, but there’s no denying that the further the game progresses the less Erik gives a damn about what’s going on on the board. In fact, chess is probably the furthest thing from his mind.

“Aaaand...I got your queen,” says Charles triumphantly, knocking the figure over. “Technically that means I’ve won, I guess, because you’ve got nothing left to take off.”

“Yeah, you’ve just made that rule up,” says Erik with a grin, carefully lifting his bottom to pull off his boxers. He’s a little embarrassed by how hard his cock already is as it springs out, especially as he’s so on display in front of Charles who’s still half-dressed, but then he spots the look on Charles’ face. There’s no fucking reason to be embarrassed in front of Charles when it’s so obvious how much Charles likes looking at him.

“Come here,” says Charles softly, holding out his hand over the board.

Erik doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s a new and exciting experience for Erik to be completely naked in front of Charles, without the cover of a blanket, but he can’t deny that he quite enjoys the thrill of it—not to mention the fact that Charles doesn’t seem to get enough of looking at his body and kissing every single spot he can reach. The realisation that Charles seems to love what he sees makes Erik’s heart beat furiously. 

It doesn’t take long for Charles to end up on his knees in front of Erik, his half-unbuttoned shirt hanging loosely from his shoulders. He looks as though out of some cheesy porn movie, his lips, redder than red, stretched around Erik’s cock, his hair in disarray, the cluster of freckles on his shoulders peeking out where his shirt has slipped. Erik feels as though he’s in a dream, dizzy and lightheaded, and not just from the heat surrounding him. He buries his hand into Charles’ soft hair, which elicits a soft moan from his boyfriend, humming around Erik’s cock. Erik almost tumbles to the ground right there.

This is everything. Him and Charles, free to be themselves and be naked and look at each other and do all these things together, with nobody else around to judge them or scoff at them and call them names. Just them and nobody else. If only it would never stop.

But of course it does stop, and when Erik climaxes and his heart and body seem to burst with fire and happiness and  _ love _ his knees actually do give way, but Charles catches him just before he hits the ground and holds him close and softly strokes his hair, and Erik can’t help clinging to his boyfriend as though afraid someone will snatch him away.

If only they could have thousands more of these moments.

 

As the semi final of the football cup draws closer, Charles has team practice every damn day after lessons, so the evenings are nearly always reserved for studying —their A levels are only about two months away after all, and Charles needs top marks to get into a good university, which is all he talks about most evenings. Erik knows he needs to study too. Even though he thinks more and more that he might not even want to go to university after all, he still doesn’t want to disappoint his mother by failing his exams. 

There are tons of things he’d rather do with Charles than sitting on the floor in their bedroom and studying though. All of which would take place on the landing in the attic.

But it’s only during the weekends that Charles allows himself to push the books away for a while, and follow Erik through the dark corridor to their little hideout. And those are the only times that Erik truly manages to relax and forget about everything else on his mind,

Most of the time they’ll just snuggle up on the sofa, maybe exchange handjobs, or, if Erik’s lucky, Charles will trail kisses down his torso and put his sinfully red lips around Erik’s cock. Since the first time, it’s only happened one more time that Charles has asked Erik for  _ more. _ This time Charles got on his hands and knees, and even though it was different from the first time because Erik couldn’t see his boyfriend’s face, he still can’t stop thinking about it. The way Charles’ hips felt under his fingers, the slapping sound of flesh against flesh...the memory of it still makes Erik wake up hard in the middle of the night sometimes.

But even though being with Charles, touching him, forgetting everything around them for a while, feels amazing, Erik often can’t help the guilty feeling that creeps up on him afterwards, the fear that Charles might think that Erik’s just using him. Charles never asks Erik, never pressures him to do anything, but Erik still worries that he’s giving Charles much less than Charles is giving him. Charles has offered him so much, and Erik just feels that he, too, should offer Charles something in return, and yet he can’t even get up the courage to give Charles a blowjob, let alone...something else.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. In fact, he’s been dreaming about all those things for a while now, but the thought also scares him, and more than he likes to admit even to himself. His fear is much less about the act itself, and much more because he’s afraid he’ll do something stupid and embarrass himself. Whenever he thinks about this there’s a soothing voice in his mind that tells him that he won’t embarrass himself, simply because Charles would never scoff at him. However, Charles’ reaction is not the only thing that’s worrying Erik. Whenever he thinks of himself in a position such as those he’s seen Charles in, he already feels the heat creep up on his face, accompanied, strangely enough, by a definite twitch in his groin area. He wants it bad—and he doesn’t. The thought of it arouses him and terrifies him at the same time. Exchanging touches, being close to one another is one thing, presenting himself in that way, putting himself on display, offering everything to anyone.... Erik’s not sure he could do it, not sure he could trust anyone enough to hand them everything he has, not even Charles—not yet at least. And yet, he can’t stop thinking about it either, because he knows, deep inside, that it’s also everything he wants.

It’s fucking confusing, that’s what it is.

All those last years Erik’s been annoyed by all the idiots around him, he’s been disgusted by their attitude, he’s despised their behaviour towards him, but never once did their dislike of him make him question  _ himself. _ He always knew that they were in the wrong and that he didn’t deserve any of the things they said or did to him, so he never felt insecure about who he was. It’s not like he’s always been totally relaxed about everything. Erik’s always had a tendency to overthink things, and worry too much, especially about his mother. But he hasn’t been worried about how anyone felt about him for years now, because none of the arseholes at his school were worthy of his worry anyway. Now is the first time in a while that Erik genuinely cares about how someone feels about him, so of course it’s scary. That’s not that big of a surprise really. What does surprise and scare Erik though, is that for the first time in years he feels  _ insecure _ in a way. It’s funny (though not  _ really _ ) how everyone can hate him and Erik never once doubts himself, and then one person comes along who seems to like him and who Erik likes back, and all his confidence collapses like a house of cards hit by a breeze. Maybe it’s just the fact that  _ suddenly _ he’s got something, somebody to lose, and he can’t even bear the thought of that happening. Or maybe it’s the fact that he’s about to shed all his defenses, make himself more vulnerable than he’s allowed himself to be in years, and the thought of losing control like that terrifies him more than he likes to admit.

And then there are all those times that Charles is with his football team, when he suddenly acts as though Erik’s not even that important to him. Erik tells himself, over and over again, that it’s only an act, that Charles is trying to protect them both, that Erik means more to Charles than any of the others, but it doesn’t make the worry go away completely. Charles’  _ act _ is just so perfect, so bloody believable, that Erik sometimes doubts that he’s got it all right. How can he be sure which of the two versions of Charles is the true one? 

The weird thing though is that whenever he and Charles are together, he never once worries about any of this and he hardly feels any of the pressure he puts on himself when he’s alone. The matter of how much he should offer Charles in return feels much less pressing. They simply cuddle, or kiss and make out, and sometimes Charles offers him more and then it feels absolutely  _ fine. _ Then Erik doesn’t feel selfish at all, maybe because Charles never once makes him feel that way. Charles never looks disappointed with him, he never pushes him to do anything that Erik might refuse. In fact, Charles looks perfectly happy and eager to get down on his knees and make Erik moan and quiver. When they’re together, the idea that Charles might be unhappy with Erik and what he does or doesn’t do seems almost ridiculous. Charles is always so enthusiastic, whatever they do, there’s so much warmth in his eyes when he looks at him that Erik’s heart is close to bursting. Everything is good when they’re together. What could ever change that?

In some ways the fact that Erik feels so safe and secure whenever he’s with Charles is astonishing and also wonderful. It’s good to just be able to breathe and relax from time to time, just be happy. On the other hand, it also prevents him from speaking about any of his fears, because he just never feels the need whenever Charles is around. He’s just happy to go along with what Charles proposes because it always feels right at that moment, almost as though Charles knows exactly what Erik needs, and so Erik allows himself to be swept away by desire and overwhelming  _ affection, _ even though he’s not ready to talk about that either. 

When it’s just the two of them, touching and kissing, it feels as though nobody exists in the world but themselves. When Charles snuggles up to him and buries his nose into Erik’s shoulder, when he teases Erik and they both tumble from the sofa in laughter, when Charles gasps Erik’s name as he falls apart by the touch of his hand—then all the worry seems baseless and ridiculous again. During those times it seems as though nothing bad could ever happen, as though Erik doesn’t have to say anything about those fears of his because Charles understands him anyway, as if he were reading Erik’s mind.

It’s just wonderful, being with Charles. All this warmth and affection, the mindblowing sex, and the fun of course. They haven’t even been together for very long and already Erik can’t imagine losing him again, because Charles is the one good thing that has happened to Erik in years. Even though he knows—and the thought hurts him more than he wants to admit—that the same can probably not be said for Charles.

It shouldn’t be a problem, it really shouldn’t be, and Erik tries not to think about how experienced Charles is at everything to do with sex, and about what he said once about something happening with  _ another boy _ at his last school. Erik tries not to mind how Charles is friends with everyone, while Erik can’t walk along a corridor without someone trying to trip him up. After all, these attacks are not about _ him and Charles. _ It’s got nothing to do with them, and, most importantly, it’s not Charles’ fault. Erik keeps telling himself this, but sometimes he just can’t help the resentment bubbling up inside him like some poisonous potion about to spill over the edges, though he hates himself for it.

The week leading up to the semi final of the football cup is especially bad.

It got better right after he and Charles became friends, but these days it’s worse than ever before. For some reason they all seem out to get him. They yell insults and abusive questions at him wherever he goes. Whenever Erik leaves or enters a classroom, someone shoves him face-first against the doorframe, once even so roughly that his nose started to bleed. They giggle whenever he opens his mouth to speak in class and make idiotic and offensive noises behind his back. They stretch out their legs to make him trip all the time, and they try and lock him in the toilet several times during the week. Whenever he’s laden his plate with food in the dining hall, there are several boys walking past him, trying to spit or sneeze on it. It’s fucking disgusting, but Erik bears it all without saying a single word, because he knows he has to. There’s no way he’ll win any kind of argument or fight in here.

Then, right after his last class on Friday afternoon, just as Erik’s passing through the door leading to the stairway, the door suddenly slams against his hand that he’s been trailing along the door frame. The pain shoots up his arm and into his chest, almost making his knees give way, and for a moment Erik’s sure that his hand is broken. He just manages to suppress a curse, before he turns around to see Shaw and a few of his cronies standing there, almost pissing themselves laughing. Without a word, Erik turns around and walks away as quickly as he can, clutching his hand close to his chest, trying very hard to blank out the laughter following him and determined not to show how fucking close he is to fainting. 

Back in his and Charles’ bedroom, Erik turns on the tap and holds his aching hand under the cold water. The coolness of the water feels good, but Erik can see that the skin on the back of his hand is already swelling up and turning blue. He tries to move a few fingers very carefully. It hurts like hell but at least all his fingers work, so it doesn’t seem as though there’s anything broken after all. He should probably get some ice to put on his hand though, but he doesn’t at all feel like leaving the room right now, so he just stays where he is, watching the water run softly over his bruised skin.

Fuck them. Fuck them all. What the hell has he done to deserve this? God, how he loathes them, how he’d like to make all pay for everything they do to him, all those miserable last years. If only he had the power...he’d make them squirm in pain, the fucking arseholes, those big-headed fuckheads. And then he’d—

The door springs open and Charles enters, glancing at Erik with a small smile as he passes, followed by Shaw and two of his cronies, all three of them the reason why Erik’s hand is black and blue and throbbing painfully.

They walk past Erik as though he’s not there (which is a lot better than what Erik expected), throw themselves on Charles’ bed and start talking tactics for the upcoming football match. Charles sits down on the chair at his desk, and simply listens, not sparing Erik another glance, and probably not even aware that Erik’s hand’s a mess, that his face is burning, and that he’s frozen in his position at the sink, unable to move for fear, anger, and humiliation.

Erik can hardly believe that they’re here, in  _ his _ room, talking to  _ his _ boyfriend as though nothing at all happened, when only ten minutes ago they actually fucking tried to  _ break his hand. _ And Charles is sitting with them, not at all caring about Erik, not checking to see whether he’s hurt, but  _ laughing _ at Shaw’s idiotic jokes. He’s fucking  _ laughing with them.  _ After what just happened, after  _ everything _ they’ve done to Erik, he’s still happy to be their _ friend. _

Erik inadvertently clenches his fists and all but cries out loudly as a sharp pain shoots up his arm again.  _ Fuck.  _ For a moment, everything almost goes black and Erik has to grab the edge of the sink to prevent himself from falling to the ground. 

Fuck this. Fuck _them._ _Fuck everything._ Including Charles. _Fuck them._

Somehow Erik manages to get to his bed, climb on it and edge backwards so he can lean back against the wall, determinedly not looking at all those arseholes on the other side of the room, trying to ignore the laughter and not wonder whether they’re laughing at him for some reason. More to hide his face than anything, Erik picks up a book with his uninjured right hand and pretends to read. Not a single word gets through to him though, his senses still occupied with the throbbing in his hand and the piercing laughter next to him, so he closes his eyes, willing himself far away, where nothing hurts and nobody torments him, where green meadows lay before him, and there’s a smell of his mother’s famous lemon herb chicken in the air...

 

“Erik?”

When Erik opens his eyes again, he has no idea how much time has passed, though probably not much, given that it’s still light outside and Charles is still wearing his school uniform. The other boys are gone though, and Charles is sitting on the edge of Erik’s bed, a crease between his brows.

“Are you okay?”

Erik’s hand still fucking hurts, and within a few seconds all the bad feelings, all the pain, humiliation, and anger are right back, making the blood shoot into Erik’s head and his heart beat furiously again. It’s fucking unbearable all of a sudden and it needs out. Something. Somehow.

“Fuck you, Charles,” Erik presses out.

“What?”

Erik feels a savage satisfaction at the shocked and slightly hurt look on Charles’ face. “Fuck off, Charles. Fucking leave me alone.”

Charles opens his mouth and closes it again. He looks dumbstruck, and for a moment it almost seems as though he’s about to cry.

For some reason this angers Erik more than anything else. 

_ “Piss off!” _ he almost shouts, and Charles, looking alarmed, recoils and is out of the room within seconds.

Erik leans back against the wall, slowly exhaling a shaking breath, and closes his eyes again. Some of the anger and pent-up aggression seeps out of him with every breath he takes.

The satisfaction at having unloaded his anger at someone only lasts for a minute though, before Erik covers his face with his hands, inwardly cursing himself.

He holds himself back, always, to stop himself from doing something stupid, and the one person he’ll actually attack is  _ Charles? _ What the fuck is wrong with him? Charles has never been anything but good to him, but again and again Erik punishes  _ him _ for what other people do to him. Charles probably had no idea what they did to Erik—Shaw definitely hasn’t told him about it. It’s not Charles’ fault, and Erik knows this. There’s no excuse for Erik’s behaviour towards Charles. And what if Charles hates him now? What if Charles decides that he doesn’t want anything to do with Erik anymore? Erik would definitely deserve it.

_ Fuck. _

 

When the bell rings signalling dinner, Erik stays in his bed. He feels sick to his stomach and there’s no way he’ll be able to get any food down in any case. Plus, maybe, just maybe, Charles will come back and maybe Erik will get the chance to explain himself, apologise, tell Charles that he didn’t mean what he said, and that it wasn’t meant for him. That none of the anger Erik feels is meant for him.

But Charles doesn’t turn up, not during dinner time, and not after.

Erik lies in bed, unmoving, waiting for hours, but the door doesn’t open, and there’s no Charles, looking upset or angry, walking into the room.

At midnight Erik finally gets up to brush his teeth and change into his pyjamas, carefully sliding his injured hand through the sleeve.

He lies awake for a long time, his eyes fixed on the door, and when he finally dozes off with his bedside lamp still on, Charles still hasn’t returned.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the lovely [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) again!
> 
> Please check out the amazing [cover art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963765) the lovely [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl/works) did for this fic!
> 
> Apologies to everyone who got an email telling you that chapter eleven was online today. It was a mistake! :((  
> By mistake I uploaded it instead of just saving it, and in my panic I tried to delete it again and ended up deleting chapter one instead, including all of your lovely comments. :(((( I'm still crying about that.  
> It's up again now, but obviously all the comments are gone.
> 
> Chapter eleven will be up tomorrow, as usual! Sorry, everyone who got tricked. <3

When Erik wakes up late the next morning and Charles’ bed is still empty and clearly unslept in, he gets really fucking scared for the first time.

Charles has  _ never _ not slept in his bed before.

But before Erik’s panic can take over and make him run to see Mr. Hughes and report Charles missing, he registers laughter and chatter outside his window. Glancing outside he can see swarms of students dressed in red and blue as well as what looks like friends, parents, and siblings walking towards the football pitch.

Oh yeah, the fucking semi final takes place at their school today, in...less than an hour actually. Erik almost forgot. He exhales a shaking breath, his panic slowly fading. If Charles is anywhere at the school it’s definitely the football field right now. And if he’s not...well, in that case other people would probably be banging on Erik’s door right now, so that seems rather unlikely.

Because he missed breakfast anyway, Erik’s not in a hurry. There’s nothing he wants more than to talk to Charles right now, apologise, make sure they’re alright, but the whole football team is definitely at the pitch already and there’s no way that Erik will get a chance to talk to Charles before the match, because Shaw always insists on giving the team ridiculous hour-long pep talks before any game. Erik’s been close enough to witness one before and even the memory of it still makes him want to vomit.

But at least this  _ has to _ mean that Charles is okay. There’s no way Shaw would let anyone on the team miss one of his stupid, self-important speeches. He’d go absolutely crazy if Charles wasn’t there right now. Erik takes another deep breath.  _ Charles is okay. _

By the time Erik arrives at the pitch the stands are already packed with people, both in blue and red, and in yellow, signifying whichever stupid school they represent. The players are already on the field too, warming up, and Erik’s heart leaps as he spots Charles among them, looking maybe a little paler than usual, but otherwise healthy and whole. Charles doesn’t spare the stands even one glance though, his eyes remain fixed on the ground, and Erik can only just stop himself from calling out to him and making himself noticed. The idea that Charles might think that Erik hasn’t turned up to watch him play (though, to be fair, watching is compulsory and Erik would be in deep trouble if anyone noticed his absence) makes Erik’s insides churn painfully. He  _ needs _ to talk to Charles, he can’t stand this, he needs to see Charles face to face, and so he can’t wait for the game to finally begin and be over again.

When it does start, however, Erik finds himself wishing he wasn’t watching.

From the first moment that Erik saw Charles play it’s always been clear that he was easily the best player on the field. He was faster, more skilled, more determined, more precise—everything the other players lacked. Now, however, it seems as though somebody has switched Charles for another player—and a terrible one at that.

Charles appears unfocused, erratic, even clunky. He loses almost every one-on-one battle, his passes are imprecise, and when he finally gets the chance to score he misses by at least five feet. 

Shaw is livid, that much is clear. He yells and bellows angrily at Charles, towering over the shorter boy so aggressively that Erik can only just hold himself back from jumping over the barrier and pushing Shaw away. It doesn’t help either. If anything Charles plays even worse afterwards, tripping over his own feet and losing the ball once more, therefore handing the opposing team the opportunity to score, which they do.

Their team is still trailing by one goal when the whistle sounds signalling the end of the first half, and the whole team disappears into the changing rooms, defeated and dejected. 

Charles hasn’t looked up to find Erik’s face in the crowd once.

Erik’s insides don’t churn anymore. They’ve twisted into a terribly tight knot, leaving hardly any room to breathe. Lucky, really, that he didn’t have any breakfast this morning. 

Erik can’t forget the look on Charles’ face when he shuffled past him—like a dog being tied outside in the rain. Erik can’t stand it. He just wants to hold Charles, tell him that it’s okay and that everything will be fine, that he’s sorry, and that he loves him. He definitely finally needs to tell Charles that he loves him.

But how can he do that when Charles is in the changing room and surrounded by all those arseholes so determined to make Erik’s life hell? And so he just stays put, waiting for them all to come back and continue play, even though it’s the last thing he wants.

When they do return, however, Erik fails to spot Charles among them. He’s definitely not one of the eleven running onto the pitch. Instead there’s a new boy, a younger one that Erik doesn’t know, filling Charles’ place. There’s no Charles among the rest of the team sitting down on the benches next to the field either. Erik cranes his neck trying to find Charles anywhere, but he’s not there, and nobody else seems to care much about where he’s gone. 

When Charles still hasn’t turned up several minutes into the second half, Erik gets up and winds his way through the crowd towards the exit. He doesn’t give a fuck about the consequences of being seen leaving anymore. Not if there’s somewhere else he needs to be right now, somewhere much more important.

 

Erik doesn’t find Charles anywhere outside or in the attic, but instead locates him in their bedroom—sitting on his bed, still in his football gear, hugging his legs to his chest. His eyes are red, but he’s not crying, not anymore at least. He looks up at Erik when he enters, and Erik’s heart breaks at the amount of despair evident in those blue eyes he loves so much.

Within seconds he’s next to Charles, pulling him into his arms, and placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I’m so, so sorry, Charles,” Erik mumbles into Charles’ damp hair, his voice shaking slightly. “I never meant—I’m so sorry. I was just—it’s got nothing to do with you and—I’m so sorry.”

It’s a crappy apology, Erik hasn’t even explained himself properly, and yet Charles’ hands grasp Erik’s shirt in response, clinging on to him tightly, though he seems unable to say anything just yet. And so Erik rambles on.

“I should never—it was Shaw, he—fuck all this, Charles, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

Charles pulls him closer and before Erik knows what’s happening Charles’ lips are on his and his hands around Erik’s waist, holding on to him as tightly as though Charles is afraid that Erik might suddenly vanish. Charles’ lips are wet and taste salty, and as Erik softly trails his thumb down Charles’ cheek he can feel more wetness there. The thought of Charles crying makes Erik want to wrap him up in a blanket, hold him close, and never let go of him again. He fucking hates himself for hurting Charles, and  _ fuck football _ for making it worse.

As Erik wraps his arm around Charles’ back to hold him close though, there’s a sudden stinging pain in his left hand. He flinches and quickly withdraws it without thinking.

Oh yeah, he completely forgot about his hand due to all the worry.

Charles pulls back, looking at Erik with light concern in his eyes. That concern turns to horror as he finally sees what’s caused Erik’s reaction.

Erik looks down too. His hand is no longer black and blue, but more...violet and green? At least it’s no longer swollen though. For a moment Erik’s amazed at how he could forget about it at all—it really doesn’t look pretty, and it still kind of hurts—but then he recalls just how worried he was earlier that Charles might not be okay, and then there was the match...

Charles still can’t take his eyes of the colourful skin on the back of Erik’s hand. He takes it into his own very carefully, trailing a tender finger over the bruised flesh. When he glances up again he looks more upset than Erik’s ever seen him.

“How did this happen, Erik?”

Erik shrugs. “Shaw,” he says simply. For some reason it doesn’t seem very important anymore. 

There seems to be something very painful going on behind Charles’ eyes. He looks close to tears again, but he doesn’t start crying, his jaw is clenched, and his lips are pressed tightly together.

“How?” he repeats quietly, hardly opening his mouth as he speaks.

Erik didn’t expect this kind of reaction from Charles. In fact he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Charles  _ angry _ before. He doesn’t at all feel like talking about it though, and so he just shrugs again. 

“A door. But it’s not broken,” he adds quickly, seeing the expression on Charles’ face.

Charles swallows, then closes his eyes. “Was this why you—?”

Erik nods. “I’m really sorry,” he says again.

Charles’ eyes snap open again and he stares at Erik as though he’s gone mad.  _ “You’re _ sorry? Erik, I— _ Fuck. _ I’d have been fucking mad as well. You shouldn’t— _ I’m _ sorry. I should have realised and not—”

They just stare at each other.

Erik’s hand is throbbing and Charles probably just lost his team the semi final, so Erik  _ really _ shouldn’t feel this elated right now, but he can’t help his heart leaping at the thought of just  _ how much _ Charles cares. He could laugh out loud, or sing, but he doesn’t do either of these things, instead he just looks back into Charles’ large blue eyes, once more transfixed by their beauty and the fact that they look at  _ him _ with this much affection.

It’s Charles who breaks the silence again, his mouth curling into a sad little smile.

“It’s all pretty fucked up, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

Charles waves his hand vaguely around the room. “All this—the students, everything. Us.” He adds with a chuckle that sounds quite sad and defeated. “Football...God, I fucked that up, didn’t I?”

He buries his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes.

Erik carefully places a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “It’s not that bad. You just had a bad day. Everyone knows how good you really are.”

When Charles glances back up, he’s smiling again, but it looks very forced. “I don’t know. Maybe. But if they kick me off the team…”

Erik smiles. “Would that be that bad? We’d have much more time for one. No more Shaw, no more practice...” Now that he thinks about it, it actually sounds like paradise.

Charles, however, shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I’ve  _ got to _ be on the team. I’ve  _ got to _ be good at football. It’s the only reason my—”

Without warning their bedroom door slams open and they both jump apart automatically.

Shaw is there, sweaty and still wearing his football shorts and shirt. He’s not alone either. It looks as though the whole team has arrived with him. Without waiting for an invitation they all step inside and slam the door shut behind them. None of them smile. They all look either pissed or apprehensive.

When Erik throws Charles a look he’s shocked to see how pale his boyfriend has become all of a sudden. Charles doesn’t say anything. He just sits on his bed, staring up at Shaw who’s drawn himself up in front of him like some grizzly bear who’s about to attack his prey.

“So…” Shaw’s voice is dangerously calm. “We saved your fucking arse for you, Charles.”

“You—” Charles swallows, clearly in an attempt to make his voice sound less shaky. “You won?”

“Yeah, we fucking won. No thanks to you though.”

“Good, that’s—that’s good.” Charles attempts to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. It’s the first time that Erik witnesses Charles’ acting talent fail him.

Shaw’s jaw is working furiously, his fists clenched. Erik’s whole body is tense too. He can sense something coming and he’s fucking ready to interfere if it does. He won’t let Shaw lay a finger on Charles if he can help it.

“Get up!” Shaw bellows suddenly, and Charles jumps to his feet. Within a fraction of a second they’re nose-to-nose with each other.

Erik can see the light shake in Charles’ hand, even though he’s not sure anyone else sees it.

“So,” says Shaw very quietly. There’s no reason for him to speak up though, as everyone in the room is transfixed and listening intently. “What caused this, Charles? Why did you fuck up like this?”

Charles takes a deep breath before he replies.“I—erm—I’m just not feeling great today. I think I—Maybe it’s a cold,” he stammers. 

He looks so defenceless the way his eyes are so wide and vulnerable, and he seems to be shrinking back into himself, that Erik just wants to pull him into his arms and hold him. But of course he knows that that would be about the worst thing he could do right now.

Shaw draws back half an inch. His eyebrows are raised in a sceptical expression. “A cold, yeah? You sure? You don’t think it has anything to do with your homo friend here?”

It’s the first time the attention shifts to Erik, and it makes Erik’s insides tighten painfully. They’re fucking done for, Charles and him, aren’t they? This is it.

“Wh—What do you mean?” Charles actually tries to smile again there, and for some reason it looks a tad more convincing than the one before. He’s also straightening up a little. He definitely seems to be getting part of his confidence back.

Shaw laughs humourlessly. “Don’t tell me you’ve been neglecting the team because you were busy—I don’t know. Doing whatever disgusting stuff he likes.” He nods to Erik again.

_ “What? _ Are you kidding me?”

What hurts fucking most is that the incredulity on Charles’ face and the way he seems to be actually taking offence at what Shaw just said are far more convincing than any part of his act earlier.

Shaw still doesn’t seem to be entirely convinced though. “So he’s not your friend?”

“He’s n—he’s just my roommate, that’s all.”

At this point Erik would like nothing more than to vanish on the spot. He doesn’t want to see any of their faces anymore, least of all Charles’, who’s not looking at him at all, but now staring at Shaw with a sort of defiant expression on his face, all insecurity apparently gone all of a sudden.

Shaw doesn’t speak for a moment. The two of them just stare at each other. Then Shaw suddenly shrugs and takes a step back, all hostility vanishing from both his face and posture. “Fair enough,” he says, holding out his hand for Charles to shake.

When Charles responds by taking it, Erik feels terribly sick all of a sudden.

Shaw doesn’t let go of Charles’ hand quickly. Even though he definitely doesn’t look close to attacking Charles anymore, there’s still something threatening glittering in his eyes. “One thing has to be clear though,” he says, not taking his eyes from Charles’ face. “This can’t happen again. Don’t make me doubt your words, Charles. No more hanging around with queer boy. Convince me. Understood?”

Charles just nods, his expression inscrutable.

Shaw smirks lightly, finally letting go of Charles’ hand and gesturing for the other idiots to follow him. “Shower. Then we talk tactics again. You too, Charles. Now.”

As the door slams shut an awful silence falls over the room.

Erik just wants to sink into the wall so he doesn’t have to face Charles, because how can they go on like before after everything that just happened? Only a few minutes earlier Erik was sure that, whatever happened, Charles would stick up for him. The anger that Charles showed when he saw what Shaw had done to Erik—

And now....now Erik doesn’t know what to think or to feel. Except emptiness. And betrayal. Oh  _ God,  _ the betrayal. And the fucking humiliation of being dropped just like that.

Because that’s what happened, isn’t it? Shaw forced Charles to make a choice, and Charles did. Only, he didn’t choose Erik, even though only minutes earlier Erik would have been so sure he would.

And Erik was so close to finally telling Charles that he loves him.

The heat creeps up Erik’s neck, making his ears burn as though they’re actually on fire. He’s such a fucking idiot for believing Charles, or maybe for convincing himself that Charles cared about him, that he liked him more than anyone else. And now—

“Erik...” he hears a soft voice, sounding half-choked. The sound makes Erik’s insides twist even more painfully than before.

But what does he care if Charles is upset. What does he care about Charles’ feelings. They don’t mean shit to Erik now. It’s all Charles’ fault after all. He could have chosen Erik instead of Shaw and his fucking teammates. True, that’d make him an outcast like Erik, but at least they’d be together. Shouldn’t that be the most important thing? Them being together? Didn’t Charles say that Erik was _ ‘the best that ever happened to him?’  _ And still it meant  _ nothing.  _ Nothing at all, to Charles at least.

“Go fuck yourself, Charles,” Erik manages to say quietly into his arms that he’s folded over his knees, his voice shaking with suppressed anger and tears. 

He’s not going to cry. Not as long as Charles is there. He’s not going to let his defenses drop, allow Charles to comfort him. Never again.

When Erik hears the rustling sound of movement approaching him, his head snaps up and he stares at Charles for the first time since Shaw left. “I said  _ fuck off, _ Charles. Go shower with your fucking football friends and have discussions of tactic and—just  _ fuck off. _ And don’t come near me again.”

There actually are tears in Charles’ eyes though, tears that Erik wishes he hadn’t seen because if one thing could weaken his resolve right now it’s seeing Charles upset. But then...Charles deserves to be upset right now. More than anyone else. He fucking deserves it.

“I said fuck off,” Erik repeats through clenched teeth, trying to ignore the bile rising up in his throat.  _ “Fuck off, _ Charles.”

And Charles does. He leaves, throwing Erik one last desperate look, appearing on the edge of wanting to say something, but then thinking better of it and carefully pulling the door close behind him.

The resulting emptiness and silence in the room doesn’t make Erik feel better though. Not in the slightest. He wants to scream, and to vanish. To punch someone, and to hide. To destroy every single last piece of Charles’ belongings, and to curl up under his blanket forever. He does none of these things though. He just stays where he is, sat on Charles’ bed, his legs hugged to his chest, his face burning, silent tears slowly starting to stream down it, feeling just as worthless as everyone else always tried to make him feel.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!
> 
> Apologies again about the mistake yesterday. Now chapter eleven is actually here.  
> Still crying about all the lost comments on chapter one though. :((( I'm such an idiot...

It’s not a nightmare, it’s fucking worse than that.

When Erik wakes up on Sunday morning he can hardly remember anything that happened the day before, after Charles left him alone in their bedroom. His head fucking hurts and he feels ill and dizzy and dehydrated, almost as though he’s hungover, but he knows for sure that he didn’t drink anything last night.

As Erik turns his buzzing head to the side, he spots a shock of soft brown hair sticking out from under the blanket on the other side of the room—Charles’ hair. It’s as though a cold hand has suddenly grabbed hold of Erik’s heart, trying to rip it out of his chest. Erik quickly closes his eyes, trying to swallow down the large lump in his throat.

_ How _ is he going to survive like this until the end of the school year? How will he be able to bear the sight of Charles getting into bed and getting up every day? If only they weren’t roommates, it might be possible for Erik to avoid Charles, but now...

He somehow manages to slip out of the room before Charles wakes and goes straight to the dining hall, where, luckily, breakfast is already being set up, even though no other students are awake yet. Erik scoffs some toast and cereal, though he’s not even hungry, determined to finish breakfast before Charles turns up.

It works. When Erik leaves the dining hall again, it’s still almost empty apart from a few of the nerds that luckily don’t pay him any attention.

Erik walks on past multiple closed doors and a few sleepy eyed students blearily stumbling towards the dining hall, until he finally reaches the vacated and dark corridor, and slips through the hidden door, remembering only once he’s inside that it’s no longer his own safe hideout now that Charles knows about it too. How could he be so fucking stupid and tell  _ anyone _ about the one place that only ever belonged to him? He’s such a naive and trustful idiot.

By the look and sound of the place, however, Charles isn’t there, at least not now, and if he did turn up later, Erik could still just tell him to fuck off. It’s his place after all, and Charles knows this. Charles was only allowed inside it, while they...well. Not fucking anymore though. Not anymore.

The little box with Erik’s knife and the wooden figures lies next to the sofa, exactly where Charles put it down a few weeks ago. Erik remembers vividly how Charles picked them up, one by one. He seemed so impressed then. And afterwards they—

Erik shakes his head angrily. It was a fucking stupid idea to allow Charles in here. Everything, every single spot is somehow connected to something they did. This is where they used to play chess. Over there Charles sank to his knees in front of Erik after they played strip chess, and the sofa, that blanket…

Erik pulls it away angrily, tossing it over the back of the sofa and out of sight. He can’t bear to look at it anymore. It’s as though it’s mocking him for being so stupid, for trusting Charles, for thinking, even for a moment, that Charles could like him more than anyone else, when nobody ever…

Trying very hard not to think about anything to do with Charles, Erik sits down with his back to the sofa and pulls the little box closer. He’d planned to make his own chess set, but so far he’s only finished three pawns. He didn’t work on his figures at all during the last few months, far too occupied with being first Charles’ friend, then—

Erik shakes his head again, trying to get the images out of his mind. 

Well, he has time now. He can’t study for his A-levels all day. Not that there’s any use in getting great marks anyway. It’s not as though he’s planning to go to university anyway. University is for ambitious, academic people like Charles who—

_ Fuck.  _ No. 

Anyway. The chess set.

Erik begins to work, trying to focus on the piece of wood in his hand, on the shape he wants it to take, but he can’t help his mind drifting off to other times he’s been up here. It seems impossible to keep Charles out of his mind, perhaps because Erik’s working on a  _ chess _ piece, and chess is...well... _ Charles. _

Or maybe it’s simply because Charles has occupied every single spot of his mind for months now. It must be almost impossible to wipe every trace of him away in such a short amount of time. But Erik has to try, otherwise he’ll surely go completely crazy sooner or later.

Before Erik can finish the first figure, his phone vibrates in his pocket and he fishes it out, half-glad, half-apprehensive to see his mother’s name on the display. He’d almost forgotten that she hadn’t called yet this weekend.

Naturally it only takes a few seconds and his falsely cheerful “Hallo, Mama” to tell her that something’s not right.

_ “What’s wrong, love? Did something happen? Did you and Charles have a fight?” _ She’s never been one to beat around the bush.

Erik opens his mouth and closes it again. He’s not sure if he’s glad or angry at himself now for never telling her that he and Charles were together. It just never came across his lips during the last weeks, probably because there was always a worry that it might not last. Now there’s no way he can tell her, though the idea of just pouring his heart out to her is somehow...comforting. But it would mean explaining to her everything he hasn’t told her first, and Erik really doesn’t think he can do that.

“Yeah, we had a fight,” is everything he manages to say.

_ “Oh Schatz…”  _ He can hear the empathy in her voice through the crackling phone line. She definitely feels his pain, possibly even more than he expected. She’s probably known all along what was going on anyway, without him telling her.  _ “Maybe you can talk to him about it? Work something out? I’m sure you’ll be fine.” _

“No,” says Erik bitterly. “Not this time. We’re done.” It’s probably been a long time since he was this honest with her.

She seems to be thinking the same thing because there’s a little pause at the other end. When she speaks again, her voice is more timid than before. She really seems upset. The thought makes Erik’s insides twist guiltily again.

_ “Do you want me to talk to him?” _

Erik closes his eyes. If only it were that simple. “No, Mama. It’s not...I’m fine.” And he’s back to being dishonest.

Erik feels worse than as he hangs up. She’ll be worrying about him now because she knows he’s upset. It won’t leave her alone until they’ve talked again and he sounds better. She probably won’t be sleeping well the next week and it’s very possible that she’ll hardly eat anything. And all just because of Erik. And Charles of course. It all comes down to Charles.

Fucking Charles.

 

The next few weeks are probably the worst of Erik’s entire time at St. John’s, and that’s saying something. Before he met Charles, Erik had no friends either, but he never knew what it could be like if he had one, and he had even less of an idea of what it could be like if there was someone who was more to him than a friend.

Now, Erik’s back to having nobody, but he knows what it could be like.

His classes aren’t really any different than before. There’s no Charles in them anyway, and no Shaw who could make them worse than they already are. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are bad though. Erik always makes sure to sit with his back to the football team’s table, but he can’t blank out their calls and their laughter completely. Whenever he thinks he recognises Charles’ voice, Charles’ laugh, it’s as though somebody drives a dagger into Erik’s already bleeding and shattered heart. And they just won’t fucking stop flicking peas, noodles or other food at the back of Erik’s head. Erik tries to just ignore this, ignore the giggling breaking out at the other tables around him, or the sticky feeling in his hair. He tries to not think about the fact that not  _ once _ does he hear Charles speaking up, telling them to stop.

Why would he anyway? Erik and Charles are done, and they both know it.

Still, Erik thought he meant more to Charles. At least they used to be friends, and shouldn’t that mean that Charles should care at least a little? But apparently Erik was wrong about a lot of things concerning Charles…

Erik has hardly looked Charles in the eye since the day of the semi final. He just doesn’t think he could bear it. He slips out of their bedroom extra early before Charles has even woken, spends all his spare time in the attic (luckily Charles hasn’t dared come back there once) and then slips back into their room around midnight, when he knows Charles will be in bed already. The only times he really ever catches more than a glimpse of Charles’ hair are meal times, and occasionally somewhere around the school. And then Charles is always surrounded by his teammates, their golden boy again, no trace of the hostility left that was there right after the last match. In fact, it looks as though Charles has once more become  _ everyone’s _ favourite student. 

So basically everything is back to the way it was. Or not, because it’s all much, much worse—at least for Erik.

Even though Shaw can’t possibly know what’s been going on between Erik and Charles (because how could he still accept Charles in his team if he did?) he seems to have a pretty good idea of what’s on Erik’s mind at least. And he seems to thoroughly enjoy taunting Erik.

Erik tries hard not to pay them any attention, but it can’t be a coincidence how often Shaw and Charles seem to cross his path in the dining hall. And  _ every time _ Erik sees them Shaw has his arm around Charles’ shoulder, talking to him emphatically, clapping Charles on the chest or the back as though they were the best of friends, while stealing glances at Erik, clearly waiting for him to explode.

Erik doesn’t though. He still hates Shaw with every fibre of his being, even more so now that he’s taken away the only person that ever meant anything to Erik at St. John’s, but most times Erik sees them together, anger isn’t even the most prominent of his emotions. He’s just so fucking disappointed, exhausted, and heartbroken, he probably couldn’t even bring up the energy required to punch Shaw in his stupid sneering face.

Because as much resentment as Erik feels towards Charles, as furious it makes him to see his ex-boyfriend joke and laugh with all those homophobic idiots that have been making Erik’s life hell for years, he still fucking misses Charles. He misses him so much, in fact, it causes him actual physical pain to think about the time they had together and everything that he’s lost.

Whenever Erik lies awake at night—and it happens more often than he could possibly admit to anyone—he can hardly suppress the tears welling up inside of himself. During those times Charles is so incredibly close, hardly six feet away from him, and yet it feels as though they’re separated by thousands of miles. Erik never feels more vulnerable than then, lying there, only just suppressing his sobs, so bloody close to just getting up, walking the two large steps to Charles’ bed to cuddle up to him, to hold him and be held, begging him to come back to him, to forget about football and everyone else, and just be _ his Charles _ again.

Erik doesn’t do it though, he can’t, because he’s still got his pride, whatever everyone else might think of him.

He will not be Charles’ little secret any longer. He won’t be the one that Charles turns to for fun and sex when at the same time he denounces everything they do and are as wrong and disgusting while others are around. And it doesn’t fucking matter that Charles never said those words in particular. His tone was enough, his incredulity, his apparent revulsion when Shaw asked him...No, never again. Even if it means that Erik will have to be alone and miserable forever.

It’s hard though. It’s really fucking hard to resist when, on those rare occasions that he and Charles are alone together in the same room and both awake, Charles makes a clear attempt to speak to him. It doesn’t happen often, probably because Erik hardly gives Charles the chance. Sometimes though, Erik’s not quick enough, or not quiet enough...

“Erik…?”

Erik freezes, just as he’s about to pull on his jacket. He thought Charles was asleep. He was  _ sure _ that Charles was still sleeping.

“Erik...please—”

There’s a rustling noise behind Erik’s back. Charles is getting up, and it seems as though he’s trying to approach him. His heart beating in his throat, Erik makes for the door, but—

“Erik, wait!”

That’s Charles’ hand holding on to his shirt, trying to keep him back. His face burning, Erik jerks around, trying to free himself.

There’s Charles, wearing nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, his hair in disarray, his blue eyes wide open, and his hand quickly retreating as he spots the look on Erik’s face. Erik just stares at him, his heart beating so hard it hurts. Erik’s stupid heart. So full of longing at the sight of his ex-boyfriend. But he can’t...he won’t...

“Erik...” says Charles very softly again. “Listen,  _ please. _ You’ve got to—”

Erik only just manages to turn away again, tear his eyes away from Charles’ deep blue ones, because listening would be a mistake, he knows it. He can’t be weak, not in front of Charles. To hell with Charles.

“Erik!” Charles’ voice is louder now, but he doesn’t try to hold Erik back again, and so Erik half-walks, half-runs outside, slamming the door shut behind himself. 

Luckily the corridor’s empty, so nobody sees Erik shaking with suppressed panic and anger. He’s furious, half at Charles for trying to force him to stay, half at himself for not giving Charles the chance.

But if he did listen, what good could possibly come out of it? Charles has made his fucking choice after all. Pretending there’s still a chance for them to—no, it’s better to try and get over it.

Anyway, Charles probably just wants Erik to stop being angry with him and like him again because Charles hates it when anyone doesn’t like him. He’s used to being everyone’s darling, and he can’t imagine being hated by anyone in the world. That’s why he’s chosen to continue to lie about who he is instead of sticking with Erik and being honest for once. Charles is just fucking trying to stay everyone’s friend. And it’s probably also why he was drawn to Erik in the first place, because Erik was the only one at St. John’s who didn’t worship him from the get-go, wasn’t he? And Charles did everything to make Erik like him, love him even. Only at some point it didn’t work out anymore, then it was Erik or everyone else, and it’s no secret who Charles chose.

Well, all of this is just speculation of course, but Erik’s sure there’s at least some truth in it. And it worked too, didn’t it? They all love Charles again, and as far as Erik knows (those are only rumours though, of course, because there’s no way Erik will ever go near the football pitch again if he can help it) Charles’ football skills are back to the way they were. So it’s all sunshine and roses for Charles again, while Erik’s life is more miserable than ever before…

Erik aims a frustrated kick at an ugly vase standing near the stairwell. It almost falls over and shatters. Erik can only just catch it before it hits the floor. His fucking toe hurts like hell now though.

_ Fuck. _

Now he’s got  _ that _ pain to deal with as well. As if he’s not suffering enough.  _ Fuck _ this place and fuck everyone inside it.

 

If only fucking sporting events weren’t compulsory.

The final of the football cup takes place in May, three weeks before their A-levels. Everyone is sickeningly excited about this. St. John’s football team hasn’t reached the final in over twenty years, and there’s a disgusting amount of  _ school patriotism  _ going on. Even though Charles performed so badly in the semi final, they all seem to put their faith in him too. They last days before the match half the school sits in the stands to watch the team practice, and Charles must be good, otherwise they wouldn’t all look so fucking happy and confident.

Erik feels sick whenever he thinks about the final. The last thing he wants is to spend time on a coach with anyone from his school, and, even worse, to have to watch them play, watch  _ Charles _ play. It’s not  _ Erik’s  _ team after all, it never was, and in the days before the match, Erik catches himself hoping they lose once more. It would serve Charles right, and Shaw. And all the other idiots.

But of course, since life seems to hate Erik and want him to be miserable, that’s not what happens.

Instead, it’s a fucking triumph. They win 3:0, Charles being everywhere, running back and forth, involved in every bloody action and easily the best player on the field again. He scores two of the goals and prepares the third, once more the hero of the school. When the whistle sounds signalling the end of the match, Charles disappears under a heap of bodies, and everyone around Erik goes fucking crazy. Mr. Hughes actually cries, and the boys start chanting terrible, idiotic songs that make Erik’s ears bleed. It’s a fucking nightmare. And when they lift Charles up on their shoulders and carry him around the pitch, singing their song of victory, Erik wants nothing more than to vanish on the spot, so he doesn’t have to endure anymore of this. 

Hasn’t he suffered enough?

Erik hangs back after the game and slips onto a later coach with the younger boys, choosing the seat right behind the driver, where all the teachers sit and where therefore none of the students want to sit anyway. He rests his head against the cool window even though it vibrates and his head keeps banging against it with every light bump.

At least none of Erik’s tormentors are around for now and he doesn’t have to see or hear Charles again. He doesn’t delude himself though. It’s far from over. There’ll definitely be a celebration back at the school, and a big one. Erik’s seen them prepare a feast in the dining hall that very morning. He’s not sure how he’ll get out of it either. Mr. Hughes definitely won’t allow anyone to shirk the celebrations.

It’ll be a nightmare. Seeing Shaw’s happy sneering face for hours, probably with his hand around Charles’ neck, shepherding him around the room, so he can bask in his glory...Erik’s not sure how he’s going to survive it.

Even just watching Charles play was like torture. Erik couldn’t take his eyes off of him, of the way the fabric stretched over his muscles, the way he moved, the look of concentration on his face...there was a time when seeing all this filled Erik with fondness, pride, and excitement. Now it just hurt. Every part of Erik’s body hurt watching Charles play, seeing what he once had and what he’ll never have again. Erik hadn’t properly looked at Charles for weeks, and now, these 90 minutes...How does the bastard still look so  _ fucking attractive? _

The worst thing though is that, however terrible the pain, Erik couldn’t help silently cheering Charles on. Whatever he’s telling himself, he was rooting for Charles to score, to win. Simply because he wanted to see him smile again. And smile he did, though Erik’s sure it wasn’t that same open, luminous smile that he’s seen directed at himself so often, but a feeble, half-hearted fake one. Or maybe that’s just his stupid imagination.

Erik closes his eyes, his head bumping softly against the window, his ears filled with the chants of the younger boys in the back of the coach, trying hard to suppress any thought of the boy he loved—no,  _ loves, _ for fuck’s sake—and how on earth he’ll evade him at the celebrations later.

If he could just disappear now, just fade away, never to be seen again…but that’s not an option, sadly.

Erik groans quietly.

_ Fuck all this, _ and them.  _ Everything. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, big thanks to [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!
> 
> Warnings:

Just as Erik expected he doesn’t get a chance to hide away in his room.

As soon as they all get off the coach they’re steered right into the dining hall, where a large sideboard has been put up, laden with all sorts of finger food. There are also different kinds of drinks, fucking  _ balloons,  _ and horribly cheesy music. The hall is already packed with students, parents, siblings and teachers, all laughing and chatting away happily—disgustingly pleased with their school’s victory as though it were their own.

Erik lingers near the wall, watching the celebration wearily. As long as all the teachers and parents are around he’s unlikely to get physically attacked, but that doesn’t mean that they won’t torment him in any other way. Events like this always make it clear how different Erik is from all the other boys even more than usual, because it couldn’t be more obvious that he’s the only person in the room who doesn’t enjoy himself. That always makes it more likely for him to become a target, but he’s definitely not going to put on a show of excitement and cheeriness for any of these bastards.

Erik turns his head automatically as he hears Mr. Hughes laugh loudly. The headmaster is surrounded by several posh looking older men in suits —definitely a bunch of fathers. Isn’t that large, sleek one Shaw’s dad? Erik’s only met him once before but that time he strutted around the school as though he owned the place. Though, to be honest, if it’s true how much he donates to the school regularly, he practically does. What a fucking nightmare to be in a room with Shaw senior and his bullying football-playing git of a son.

Erik’s eyes drift towards the door which stands wide open. If he could only slip outside unseen, then dash up the stairs and hide in his room or maybe in the attic...nobody could ever prove that he wasn’t there. There are far too many people here. A glance outside however tells him that there’s no way he’ll be able to escape unnoticed. There are more teachers standing in the entrance hall near the stairs, and there’s no way they wouldn’t notice him creeping off.

Erik groans quietly. How long will he have to bear this? This shit is likely going to go on for hours.

He shuffles back to the other side of the room, leaning against the wall and bleakly watching everyone else having a good time.  _ What a fucking miserable day. _

It takes Erik a while to spot Charles among the crowd. He’s standing with Shaw and the other footballers, sipping a drink and apparently not joining in the conversation. Erik’s not entirely sure whether he’s only imagining the blank, absent look on Charles’ face, but it sure doesn’t look as though Charles is having a whole lot of fun either.

Why the hell would that be though? He’s the fucking hero of the match after all.

The next moment, however, someone slaps Charles on the back and Charles turns around, accepting the other boy’s congratulations with a wide smile on his face.

Maybe Erik’s mind’s just going. So what if Charles wasn’t smiling for a moment? Doesn’t fucking mean that he isn’t enjoying all this shit. He better be. He fucking chose  _ this _ over Erik after all.

Erik’s stomach churns painfully. He has managed not to look at Charles for a few weeks now, because he knew it would hurt like hell, and he couldn’t be sure how he’d react, but after the match earlier today...watching Charles play was painful enough. Erik really shouldn’t torture himself anymore by looking at his ex-boyfriend now.

Only, now that he’s started looking, he finds it almost impossible to look away again.

People say that a beautiful person can suddenly become ugly when they reveal their real personality and you realise that they’re, in fact, a huge arsehole. So why does Charles still look beautiful in Erik’s eyes? Why is Erik still drawn in by those deep blue eyes? Why do Charles’ red lips still scream  _ ‘Kiss me’  _ and not  _ ‘Punch me’ _ when Erik looks at them? Why does Erik still want to run his fingers through Charles’ hair, to softly trace them along his neck? Why does his arse still look amazing to Erik? Why,  _ why _ does he still  _ want _ Charles?

Charles laughs loudly at something one of the other footballers says, and Erik’s heart skips a beat, though he’s not sure whether it’s because of the laugh itself or the accompanying pang that it wasn’t directed at him.

And it never will be again.

There’s a large and uncomfortable lump in Erik’s throat that won’t go away however much he swallows. He can feel the tears coming too, and that’s the last thing he needs, to be found bloody crying in a room full of his worst enemies.

Erik quickly turns around towards the wall, trying to hide his face, and blinks several times, but he can tell that his eyes will be red already. He furtively wipes across his face with his sleeve, drying the wetness on his cheeks.

_ Fucking get yourself together. Crying won’t change anything, it’ll only make you more likely to get attacked. _

Because crying is another thing you don’t do when you’re a man, isn’t it? It’s all about being fucking tough and to always have yourself under control, like all the other arseholes in this room.

Apart from Charles of course, though nobody but Erik knows how quickly Charles’ eyes will become wet if he gets emotional. He’s even cried right after they’d first made out in the shower — after  _ sex.  _ If that shouldn’t make Charles a  _ fucking pussy _ in their eyes, Erik’s not sure what could. But of course they don’t know anything about that, just like they don’t know that Charles is just as gay as Erik. If not more so, because Erik’s bloody sure that Charles isn’t even slightly interested in girls. But still it’s Erik who has to take endless taunts, insults, and abuse, while Charles gets to be  _ everyone’s friend. _

Erik’s fists are clenched now and shaking slightly. His heart is beating so hard it hurts, though at least the tears have stopped.

Fuck this. Fuck them. How is any of this  _ fair? _

“Hey, homo.”

Shaw’s voice is so fucking close that Erik spins around in a panic. He should have known really. Turning his back on them has never been a great idea. He’s actually surrounded by at least ten boys, most of them from the football team. Shaw’s so fucking close to him that they’re almost nose-to-nose. Charles is there too, standing slightly outside the circle, his rather nervous face peeking out from behind another boy’s shoulder.

He’s not telling them to leave Erik alone though.

“Have you been fucking crying, Lehnsherr?” Shaw’s sneering face is far too close. The other boys guffaw.

Erik takes a step back, his back touching the wall now, and shoots a quick glance towards the teachers and parents. They’re all deep in conversation, not even a single face turned towards them, and the music’s far too loud for them to hear anything anyway.

Shaw takes a step closer, and there’s really no space for Erik to back away any further.

“I asked you something,” says Shaw just loudly enough for the other boys to hear. “Have you been crying, you fucking pussy?”

Erik’s teeth are clenched so tightly it’s impossible for him to say anything, but what could he say anyway? 

Shaw slaps him across the face, but the music swallows the sound. Erik turns his face away from Shaw best he can, his cheek burning, and shoots another glance towards the adults on the other side of the room. Still none of them pay them any attention.

“Sebastian…” Finally, that’s Charles’ voice, tentative and hardly audible.

Shaw turns around, sneering back at their audience. “What? Charles, you want to say something?”

Erik’s eyes flicker in Charles’ direction, hopeful for the first time, but Charles just stares at Shaw, his eyes large, his cheeks flushed.

“You care about little queer boy here?” asks Shaw, grabbing hold of Erik’s shirt and shaking him slightly. “Because that’s kind of gay, to be honest.” He sneers worse than ever. The other boys laugh loudly. “So? You care?”

Charles swallows. He seems to be shrinking back into himself, though Erik’s not sure whether anyone else notices. Not looking at Erik or Shaw, Charles shakes his head. 

Erik’s heart plummets and his stomach turns over. He has to work hard to pull himself together and not vomit all over Shaw. He can hardly breathe. It’s as though someone has emptied a bucket of ice cold water over his head, making his lungs contract painfully.

His ears buzzing, Erik misses the next few things that Shaw says, but he does notice being pushed against the wall, Shaw’s arm pressing against his chest, making it even harder for Erik to breathe.

“You fucking loser,” says Shaw, still sneering. “You think you can just stand there and cry and nobody will notice? You think you can just turn your queer arse on us and we’ll leave you alone? Well, guess what.” Shaw let’s go of him and draws back about an inch, his eyes contracting dangerously. “We just won the fucking football cup. I feel like celebrating and I can’t stand your bloody miserable face, you fucking poof.”

Shaw slaps him again, harder this time. “Smile!” he yells, though still not loudly enough to carry to the other side of the room. 

Erik’s face is burning, his clenched fists are shaking. Before he can do anything though, another slap hits him hard in the face. 

“I said  _ smile,” _ says Shaw in a dangerous tone, his face only inches from Erik’s.

Erik closes his eyes. He won’t smile, not for Shaw, not ever. If that means that he’ll have to endure more torment, so be it. He won’t humiliate himself in front of any of those boys though, especially Charles.

Another slap. So hard this time that Erik almost falls to the side. He only just manages to keep standing, but there’s a hot sting in his cheek that feels as though he might be bleeding.

“Seb…” 

Charles’ voice is so quiet that Erik might just as well have imagined it. Shaw definitely acts as though he didn’t hear. Why should he? There definitely won’t be any real protest coming from Charles, that much is clear, because his own fucking reputation is obviously more important to him than Erik. He’ll just stand there and watch Erik being beaten and sneered at if it means that nobody discovers his secret.

“So, homo, you’re not gonna smile, are you? Not even to save your own pretty face, huh?” Shaw has taken a step back again. He looks quite deranged, a mad grin on his face, a smear of blood on his hand. So Erik was right —he _ is _ bleeding.

“What about the other poofs then?” Shaw goes on, still a manic glint in his eyes. “Do you think they’ll still want to fuck you if your face is a mess?”

The rabble laugh louder than ever.

“Just smile, homo, and I won’t have to fuck up your face completely.”

But Erik’s jaw is clenched so tightly, he couldn’t smile even if he wanted to. Predictably the next slap follows, though this time it’s more like a blow. It makes Erik’s head spin and throb and he has to blink a few times to get the room back into focus.

What the fuck has he done to deserve this? Shaw comes at him and beats him up for no reason. And they all laugh. They all just stand there and fucking laugh.

“Just smile, homo, do it for the other poofs.” 

The roaring laughter is louder than ever before, and yet it grows fainter in Erik’s head, becoming more like a distant buzzing sound, hollow and dull, while his face and his rage grow hotter by the second.

_ Fuck them. _ Oh  _ God, _ Shaw will pay for this.

“You really think any of the other homos will still want you with your face fucked up, Lehnsherr?”

Erik looks directly into Shaw’s stupid sneering face for the first time. His fists are shaking worse than ever, his face is burning and hurting like hell. There’s nothing he wants to do more than to sink his fists into Shaw’s arrogant face, smash it into a thousand pieces, make it fucking unrecognisable, a bloody mess of skin and bones.

There’s still enough sense in him that he doesn’t do it though. Instead, he speaks for the first time, through clenched teeth, in a shaking but clear enough voice for them all to hear and understand.

“You know who’s actually gay? Charles is gay. Charles fucking Xavier, your hero. He’s fucking gay.”

They don’t laugh this time. In fact, it’s awfully quiet, apart from the stupid music still playing somewhere in the background and the chatter of the rest of the people in the room. 

Erik stands up straight, a terrible smile spreading across his bloody face. He’s shocked them. They didn’t expect that, and suddenly  _ he’s _ the one in charge, the one holding the reins, and it feels fucking great to see their gaping mouths and shocked expressions. 

“You don’t believe me?” He laughs out loud. “You’re all so blind, aren’t you? You bunch of tossers. But I’ve got more than enough stuff on my phone to prove it.”

Erik’s never felt so fucking powerful in his life before. They’re all in his hands. They’re so fucking shocked that none of them move. The satisfaction makes the smile on his face grow even wider as he looks from one stupid, dumbstruck face to the next.

Or it does until he spots the one face among all the others that doesn’t just look surprised and shocked, but downright horrified.

Erik has never seen Charles’ eyes like this. They’re wide open and popping, making him look like a rabbit that’s been cornered by a snake.

As all the other faces turn towards Charles, he looks wildly at the floor as though he’s looking for something. His fists clench and unclench and he swallows, his face white as a sheet. He looks close to fainting. Charles opens his mouth to say something, still staring at the floor, but then he closes his eyes for a second, biting his lip, before he turns around and dashes away, past the teachers and parents, through the door and up the stairs before anyone can stop him.

Everything around Erik freezes for a moment. He can’t hear the music anymore, he can’t see the other boys or the room he’s in, all he sees is Charles’ face, that look of panic and betrayal, the sheer horror in his eyes.

_ What the hell was he thinking? _

A wave of panic hits Erik so hard he almost keels over. He feels sick, cold sweat breaking out all over his body, his mind whirling with mingled fury, humiliation and cold dread.

_ What has he done? _

His first instinct is to run after Charles—whether to stop him, hold him, shake him, shout at him, apologise, Erik’s not entirely sure. He just knows he needs to make everything alright again—but how can  _ anything ever _ be alright again? Charles surely hates him now. Erik’s just betrayed him in the worst way possible, and Charles will never want to look at him again. Whatever Charles has done, or not done, previous to this, however much he’s let Erik down,  _ nothing _ will excuse what Erik just did.

“So…” Of course Shaw is the first one to find his voice again. “You and Charles, ey?” His face is an ugly grimace, sneering and yet he looks fucking angry, offended even. “You’re right. He fooled us all, the little poof.”

_ Shut up, you fucking dick, just shut up. _

Erik’s clenched fists shake worse than ever. His face is burning, impossible to tell whether it’s because of the slaps, the humiliation, the guilt or the overwhelming anger he feels. 

Erik can’t think straight anymore, all his willpower going into not lashing out, not smashing everything and everyone around him into fucking pieces.

“We should have known really,” Shaw goes on, his voice shaking too, but a painfully smug look on his face, that nevertheless looks forced. “He looks like a little queer boy, doesn’t he? Like a fucking princess. I bet you were all over him as soon as he arrived, weren’t you, Lehnsherr?”

_ Don’t react. Don’t listen. He’s just provoking you. Don’t let him...Don’t— _

“You’ve fucked it up now though, haven’t you, homo? He won’t let you have a go on his arse again, will he? That’s it. There’s no way he’ll let you do any of your disgusting little—”

Shaw keels over backwards as Erik’s fist hits him in the face. Within a fraction of a second Erik is on top of him, lashing out, his fist sinking into Shaw’s hated face once, twice, three times—there’s blood on Erik’s knuckles and they hurt like hell, but he doesn’t give a fuck. He keeps striking again and again. All he wants is to cause Shaw as much pain as possible, make him pay for what he’s said and done, what he made Erik do to Charles. Everything that’s just fucking Shaw’s fault and—

“Oi!”

There are broad arms slinging themselves around Erik’s neck forcing him away from the bloody mess on the ground that is Sebastian Shaw, almost choking him. Erik struggles against them. He’s not done yet. He wants to ruin Shaw, to fucking end him—but the arms won’t budge.

Instead a fist hits him full in the face, all but knocking him out. Before Erik can free himself, before he can even discern who’s almost breaking his neck, another blow hits him and another. Erik blinks through his own blood, disoriented, his head spinning, stinging, feeling as though it’s about to split open.

Then, suddenly, the arms release him again and Erik, dizzy and lightheaded, tumbles to the floor. Nobody catches him this time though, because he’s driven away the only person that ever would.   _ Charles _ isn’t there to hold him anymore. 

Disoriented, his head and face still fucking hurting and his ears buzzing, Erik looks around from the floor. It takes a few seconds before everything stops being blurred and the room comes back into focus.

The teachers and parents all seem to be gathered around him and the rest of the boys. Erik’s the only one on the floor, but there are people gathered around Shaw who stands just a few feet away from Erik, and whose face is covered in blood. One teacher is just releasing Andy Roberts, whom he seemed to have been restraining. Everyone else looks shocked, heated, outraged, or nervous.

Even though Erik’s still not quite able to comprehend what’s going on, one thing does get through to him, making his heart skip a beat: He was in a fucking fight. For years he’s managed to hold himself back, and now he’s finally snapped and fucked everything up.

Teachers are already gathering around Shaw, talking to him, and even though Erik can’t understand what they’re saying through the buzzing in his ears, it’s pretty fucking clear that it won’t be good for him. Nothing that Shaw says could ever be good for Erik.

And nobody’s bothering to talk to Erik. Nobody’s helped him up or checked on him so far. Nobody gives a damn that his face is a mess, that his head is throbbing painfully.

Now they’re all turning around to look at Erik, frowning or shaking their heads, one by one, then craning their necks and looking around the crowd as though searching for someone. 

Erik feels like running away, hiding, just make sense of everything, but he’s not even sure he has the strength to stand up by himself. He might faint if he tried. So he just stays where he is, on the floor, feeling fucking numb and half-detached from the scene, staring up at the people around him, waiting for something to happen.

“Get up, son.” The first one to address Erik is Mr. Howard, his electronics teacher. His hand closes around Erik’s arm and pulls him upright.

It takes a moment for Erik to steady himself. He has to close his eyes and wait for the blackness to pass again, but before he’s reopened them, he’s being pulled away from everyone else by the arm. 

Erik follows his teacher blindly, numbly, hardly caring where they’re going, half-glad to be leaving the scene behind him, half-terrified of what’s going to happen next. He can feel everyone else’s stares on the back of his neck, following him out of the hall into the entrance hall.

They walk on, through several corridors, then up a flight of stairs, where someone runs past them in a hurry—one of the nurses?—before finally Mr. Howard opens a door and leads Erik inside. The nurse’s room, Erik registers blearily.

“Stay here and wait,” Erik hears his teacher say. 

Erik just nods numbly, staring at the floor, not even bothering to hide the fact that his hands are still shaking violently. What’s the fucking point anyway?

The door closes and Erik’s alone again in the absolute silence, no sound of footsteps or breathing to set a rhythm for his thoughts anymore. Nothing to constrain them.

Almost at once the numbness and bleariness give way to something more raw, more painful, as barely concealed terrible thoughts and emotions sweep over him—anger, guilt and most of all overwhelming fear. 

What on earth is going to happen to him now?

Shaking, Erik sinks down onto a chair, burying his face into his trembling hands, trying very hard not to faint.

What the fuck has he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for:
> 
> intense bullying, humiliation, unwanted outing, violence


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) is awesome!

Erik doesn’t sleep that night.

He hasn’t left the nurse’s room again, but is lying in one of the beds strung along the wall. One of the nurses, a young woman he’s never even seen before, has checked on him and cleaned the wound in his face, and brought him pyjamas and a toothbrush. Then she left him alone again.

Erik changed and washed almost mechanically, not daring to ask why they won’t let him go back to his own room, unsure whether he even wants to—he wouldn’t really know what to say to Charles after all.

_ Charles. _

The further the night progresses the less blurred his thoughts become and the clearer Erik sees everything that has happened the day before, but this doesn’t mean that it becomes less terrifying.

But, even though Erik’s fucking scared of what’ll happen to himself next, he can’t stop thinking about the look on Charles’ face. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look so...hunted in his life before. And the worst part of it is that it was because of something Erik said.

It’s fucking wrong and unfair that Charles would have to feel like this in the first place, that being outed would make him feel so bloody scared and humiliated—that’s just wrong. But that doesn’t change that fact that it’s Erik’s fault, because it’s Erik who betrayed him. Yes, Charles hasn’t been the greatest friend lately—in fact he’s been a huge dick, especially to Erik—and he probably deserved...something for that. But that should have still been between the two of them. Erik should have taken Charles aside in their room and shouted all his anger and frustration into Charles’ face, let it all out. Maybe they could have even settled things between themselves then. But this—Erik never wanted this. He never wanted to be like this.

Erik rubs his eyes, trying to get himself back under control. He feels sick and his face still fucking stings. It’s probably black and blue. And Erik’s not even sure who’s hit him—it doesn’t make any difference though. It might be anyone. They  _ all _ hate him in any case.

Erik tries not to think about his own situation too much, because he basically knows he’s fucked. If Shaw’s told the teachers that Erik attacked him (and there’s no way he didn’t tell them that) then Erik can basically start packing his bag right now. Nobody will listen to him when he tells them that he was provoked, that Shaw hit him first, and nobody will give a damn about any of Erik’s own injuries. He’ll probably be lucky not to get sued by Shaw’s family.

No, it’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure. And only three weeks before his A-levels. His mother will be so disappointed…

If only Erik could have Charles back. If only there was someone to hold him right now, to tell him that everything’s going to be okay, even if it’s not. But the whole room is empty and cold, and nobody’s bothered to look in on him at all since the nurse left.

Erik clenches his fists again, gritting his teeth in an effort to prevent himself from starting to cry.

It’s all fucking over. They’re going to chuck him out and that’ll be the end of any chance he’ll ever get at making up with Charles. Though Charles probably hates him anyway now, and won’t want to have anything to do with him anymore.

Erik swallows hard, trying to rid his throat of the painful and large lump that is manifesting there.

But Charles...what if Charles becomes their new target now? Everyone knows about him being gay now, thanks to Erik, what if they turn against him? And it’s more than bloody possible that Erik won’t even be there to support him, because he’ll be in Germany, expelled. 

True, Charles was a coward, he never did anything to stop Erik’s misery, or when he did, his attempts were half-hearted, feeble, but still...he doesn’t deserve _ this. _ Erik doesn’t wish his own suffering on Charles. Never. The thought of Charles being treated like that, and it being his, Erik’s, fault, makes Erik’s chest constrict painfully. 

It’s not as though all the anger and resentment at Charles’ behaviour has suddenly disappeared. It still fucking stings when Erik thinks of all the times that Charles shrank away instead of defending him, but the guilt at what Erik’s done to him has washed a lot of it away. And the pain of what it all means. And the fucking _ longing. _

Because he still loves Charles, whatever he’s tried to tell himself over the last weeks. Erik still fucking loves him, however much of a coward Charles was. And he’s not sure how anything could ever fucking change that. Because even when he was so fucking angry with Charles, it never stopped, which is why it hurt so bloody much. He forced himself not to speak to Charles because he knew he couldn’t bear it, he knew he couldn’t stand talking to Charles, looking at him and not be able to kiss him, hold him, breathe him in. And it hurt  _ so fucking much. _

And Erik also knows, deep down, that Charles never wanted Erik to get hurt either. The looks on Charles’ face whenever he watched Erik being taunted have told him as much, though he didn’t want to fucking think about it at the time. Charles is a sensitive person after all, and so  _ kind _ to everyone, only he hasn’t quite realised that this sort of kindness needs to be shed occasionally, that some people don’t deserve it, that sometimes you need to be tough, choose sides. And so his miserable looks weren’t enough for Erik in his anger, they still aren’t, and yet—

Erik groans quietly, but it still echoes loudly in the empty room.

He should have fucking  _ talked _ about this shit when he had the chance, not bottled it all up inside him until it burst out of him in front of all the other boys. Whatever Charles did, or didn’t do, this is on him — Erik. Charles even wanted to talk to him, and Erik ran away, the resentment building up inside him, until it was just too much.

Erik rolls to the side and curls up, hugging his legs close to his body, closing his eyes.

If only there was a way to make things right again, for them both to get a second chance, to talk it all out, get their feelings off their chest...if only there was a chance for them after everything that has happened. Because Erik’s still not ready to let go...

 

The next morning the young nurse turns up again to bring him a tray of breakfast, check on his wounds, and tell him to stay there until he’s called to the headmaster’s office.

Erik nods, attempting to smile at her as he croaks his thanks. It’s not as though he’s surprised by this—it’s natural that Mr. Hughes wants to see him after what happened, but Erik can’t pretend that he’s not bloody nervous about it. His whole future depends on this meeting after all, in several ways.

Charles, for instance. And his exams, as well as his mother’s happiness.

Erik forces down some toast, trying to fill the void in his stomach, but he’s not sure whether he’s actually only making it worse, because now he’s starting to feel sick on top of everything. That might not be solely due to the food though.

The nausea still hasn’t quite passed when Erik’s finally called and led to the headmaster’s office, where he knocks a few times before he steps inside.

Mr. Hughes is sat at his desk and looks up when Erik enters. “Sit down, son.”

Erik takes a seat opposite his headmaster, but he doesn’t lean back. He’s too tense. All questions that have kept him awake all night keep repeating themselves over and over in his mind.

What is going to happen now? Is there any chance that he won’t be expelled? And if not, will they make him leave right away? Will he even get a chance to apologise to Charles? To say goodbye to the one and only person who’s ever meant anything in this hellhole of a school? 

Erik notices his fists are clenched tightly and unclenches them, taking a deep breath.  _ It’ll be okay. Everything will be okay,  _ he tells himself, though he knows deep inside that it’s not true.

Mr. Hughes fixes Erik with his annoying wanting-to-look-stern-but-just-looking-ridiculous stare. Only today it looks much less ridiculous than usual. It looks threatening.  _ Fuck. _

“Erik, I think you know why I called you here, don’t you?”

Erik nods numbly. 

Mr. Hughes puts his hands together and stares at his fingers. “This is a delicate subject. I’m sure you understand that.”

Erik swallows, staring at his headmaster whose gaze is still fixed on his hands.

“The school would like to…” Mr. Hughes inhales deeply, then looks back up at Erik, a patronising smile on his lips. “Drop the whole subject,” he concludes.

_ What? _

Erik’s incredulity must be showing on his face, because Mr. Hughes leans forward on his desk and continues: “We’d like to forget about it, Erik. Pretend it never happened. We know you don’t usually do things like that, so we’d like to give you another chance.”

“But —”

“Erik, surely you want to finish your education?”

“Of course, but—”

_ None of this makes any fucking sense. _

“So we’d like to give you that chance. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t be happy if you had to leave now without taking your exams, would she?”

“Wh—No, of course not, but—”

“So she doesn’t need to know about what happened at all.” Without waiting for another word from Erik Mr. Hughes gets up from his seat and walks towards to the door behind his desk, which does not lead out into the corridor, but to the room behind his office. His hand on the door handle, he turns around to look at Erik once more. “Please wait here for a moment, Erik. There are other people who’d like to have a word with you.”

And he leaves Erik staring after him, stunned and unable to process what just happened.

Before Erik can gather his thoughts and even begin to comprehend what all this means the door opens again, but it’s not Mr. Hughes. Instead, three people enter, a vaguely familiar platinum blonde middle-aged woman in an terribly expensive-looking skirt suit and a broad-shouldered, red-faced man with a neck like a bull’s, followed by  _ Charles. _

Erik stares at his best-friend-ex-boyfriend- _ fucking-love-of-his-life _ , willing him to look back, but Charles doesn’t. He keeps staring at the floor, looking wilted and weak. Even as they all fetch chairs from the door and sit down opposite Erik, Charles doesn’t look at him once.

“Mr. Lehnsherr.” Erik almost jumps when the woman (Charles’ mother!) addresses him. She even gets the pronunciation of his name almost right. Maybe Charles has told her? 

Erik turns to look at her. She’s fixating his face with a kind of cold determination. Her eyes are blue, just like Charles’, but there’s none of the warmth in them that so seems to radiate from her son’s. She’s beautiful like Charles, no doubt about that, but instead of Charles’ beauty, which lights up and warms any room he enters, she seems to emanate a chill that makes Erik shiver. Her beauty seems like a weapon, existing to intimidate, radiate power to the people around her, rather than reassure them, invite them in.

Her voice is just as frosty as her eyes, but Erik can tell by its tone that she knows exactly what she wants, and that she’s used to getting her way. “We all know what this is about, so there’s no use beating around the bush.”

Erik doesn’t say anything, but it doesn’t seem as though she’s expecting him to anyway.

“I’ll be plain with you. If word got out about...all this, it could be potentially damaging to our family’s relations, possibly even the family business. So we’d like to make you an offer.”

“An offer?” repeats Erik, confused.

“An offer,” she affirms. “You will not talk about this to anyone outside of this school, especially not the press. You’ll delete any evidence you have from your phone or any other device, You won’t tell anybody about the relationship you had with my son. You won’t tell them anything that happened between the two of you. You won’t mention my son’s...propensity to anyone. If asked about it, you’ll deny it. Firmly. In return we offer you  £50,000 for your silence.”

She looks at him expectantly. 

Erik’s ears are buzzing. He’s not sure he’s heard her correctly. “£50,000?”

Charles’ mother looks annoyed now. “What? That’s not enough for you? You’ve got some nerve, boy. But fine, what prize would you think appropriate?”

“What —No, I don’t— _ what?”  _ He stares at her, horrified. “You want to pay me so I don’t talk about Charles being  _ gay?” _

She flinches at the word, and not just her. The man next to her (Charles’ stepfather?) almost falls off his chair, and Charles shrinks even lower into his own, still not looking at Erik.

“Yes, didn’t you listen?” She seems nervous all of a sudden, pink patches appearing on her cheeks, much less in control. “We can raise the offer somewhat, if you—”

“I don’t want your fucking money!” Erik’s suddenly on his feet, though he doesn’t remember getting up. His fists are clenched so tightly it hurts and his heart is beating so hard, it seems to be trying to escape through his throat. “What is—this is not—” Erik casts wildly around for words harsh enough to describe his disgust at what’s happening, but his mind is blank. He can’t fucking believe it. In his frustration he turns to the only person he knows and respects in the room.  _ “Charles,  _ say something!”

For the first time Charles’ head snaps up and they look into each other’s eyes. The next second Charles’ blue ones widen in shock as he takes in Erik’s appearance, his bruised and swollen face. He doesn’t say anything though. He just swallows, a pleading and desperate look on his face, then casts a short and nervous glance towards his parents and quickly looks down again, his cheeks flushed, his ears bright red.

Before Erik can say another word, the red-faced man speaks for the first time, in a rather threatening tone.

“You  _ insolent _ little—”

Charles’ mother puts her hand on his arm, and shakes her head warningly. “Kurt.”

Charles’ stepfather clenches his teeth, and shakes his head a little, obviously trying to stop himself from shouting at Erik. After a few seconds he turns to Charles instead.

“It’s all your fault, boy.”

Erik wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Charles seems to shrink even deeper into his chair.

“We should have taken you home, as I suggested, but you insisted, didn’t you? Oh, I should have been tough with you, just like I always thought.” The man seems to swell like a balloon, his face getting redder and redder.  _ “Football,” _ he says derisively. “It was never about football, was it? It was just about getting further away from us so you could follow your disgusting,  _ sickening—” _

_ “Kurt!” _ says Charles’ mother again, more resolute this time.

He sags back into his chair, but Erik can tell that he’s very close to exploding, possibly lashing out. His fists are clenched, just like Erik’s, and his face is even redder than before.

Charles hasn’t uttered a single word to his own defense. He’s sunk so deep into his chair, he looks two heads smaller than usual.

Erik’s fists seem to never want to unclench again. He’s half-ready to jump in and defend Charles, hurl insults at his stupid, red-faced stepfather should he start attacking Charles again. But it seems as though it won’t be necessary.

Charles’ mother fixes Erik with her cold and calculating stare again, though she can’t quite hide the fact that her cheeks are also flushing pink and that her lip seems to be trembling slightly.

“You don’t know what you’re doing, boy,” she says quietly, threateningly. “And you sure seem to have no idea who you’re dealing with. This is a warning. If one word gets out that—” she swallows, Erik can see her fists clenching and unclenching. “You’ll wish you’d never been born,” she concludes.

Erik stares at her, defiant, and she stares back, neither of them breaking the eye contact for a few seconds before finally she turns away, addressing her husband.

“We’re done here. Let’s go.”

And she gets up at once, grabbing Charles’ arm and pulling him upright.

Charles doesn’t dare look at Erik again. Instead he keeps staring at the floor, his ears still red, as well as his eyes. Erik doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so defeated in his entire life. It makes the last bit of anger at Charles seep out of Erik in spite of himself, makes his heart constrict painfully in his chest, makes him want to grab hold of Charles too and pull him back, maybe hold him close, or shake him, make him fight for himself, for  _ them, _ make him do  _ something. _

But before he can do anything Charles has already been pushed out of the room by his mother and out of sight, and the door slams shut behind them.

 

Erik’s half-surprised when he’s told that he can now go back to his own room instead of the nurse’s room, but he’s glad nonetheless. Maybe that’ll mean that he’ll be able to speak to Charles again soon. He definitely won’t run away this time. He  _ needs _ to speak to Charles. Alone.

There seem to be tons of things that Charles has kept quiet about all those last months.

As Erik walks through the almost-empty corridors (ignoring the nervous looks the few other boys throw him) the rush of blood in his head calms down somewhat, and more and more of what he’s just heard and witnessed falls into place in his mind, illuminating aspects of Charles’ life and reasoning that Erik never before even thought about.

His mother, for instance. Her cold, and calculating demeanor, her embarrassment at Charles being gay, that led her so far as to actually offer Erik  _ £50,000 _ for his silence. That’s a fucking lot of money. And Erik’s not the only person in this school who knows about it now either. Did they offer all of the boys this kind of money? 

And Mr. Hughes! He was so eager to just forget about the whole thing, even though there’d been a major brawl. Erik was so sure that he was being expelled, or at least punished severely. But —and Erik’s heart painfully skips a beat at the thought—Charles’ mother probably offered him and the school a lot of money too, so he’d act as though it had never happened.

Erik’s chest fucking hurts when he remembers those last weeks. How Charles shied away from letting the others know about him and Erik, how he tried to talk to Erik, but Erik wouldn’t let him, how bloody terrified he looked when Erik outed him in front of the other boys.

Erik’s always thought of Charles as so fucking privileged. He’s rich, he’s popular, his parents send him to a fancy school—he just seemed to have it all, while Erik had nothing, being poor, universally hated, a bloody outsider through and through.

But it’s not true, is it? Of course it hurts when Erik’s taunted and bullied by the other boys, but in the end, they don’t fucking matter. He doesn’t like them, so he doesn’t aim to be liked by them either. And soon school will be over, and he’ll never see them again. The only person that really does matter is his mother—and she’d be fucking thrilled if Erik turned up on her doorstep introducing Charles as his boyfriend, because she always loves and supports him, and he doesn’t have to worry that she won’t. Erik always kind of took that for granted—it’s what parents do. It’s their fucking job to support their kids, isn’t it?

He always knew, but never really considered what it meant that some people are not that lucky.

The idea of Charles introducing Erik as his boyfriend to  _ his _ parents is laughable—or actually it’s not because Erik would seriously be worried for both of their physical integrity. His stepfather looked as though he’d quickly lose his temper after all. And his mother—well, it didn’t look as though she’s even capable of properly loving anyone, but still, she’s Charles’  _ mother. _

With a pang Erik remembers something Charles told him a few months earlier, when Erik asked him why he left his last school.

_ ‘Something...happened. With another boy. And then my mother decided that I should change schools.’ _

Erik even knew back then that obviously Charles must have been somehow involved with another boy, but he’s preferred not to think about it —mostly because of the jealousy that always came with the thought. That’s probably why he’s never really even considered the second part of what Charles said. His mother made him leave his last school because people found out that he was gay. Hell, she probably paid a ton of other students that first time too. They really must be  _ filthy rich. _

But—and Erik’s head begins to spin as several more memories fall into place—they didn’t take Charles back home after that, even though his stepfather wanted it—presumably to keep an eye on Charles. So they sent him to another school in England only because of Charles’ special talent for football? That’s what it sounded like at least.

Another thing that Charles said—something that Erik completely forgot about because of all the horrible things that followed right after—comes back to him.

_ ‘I’ve  _ got _ to be on the team. I’ve  _ got _ to be good at football. It’s the only reason my—’ _

If only they’d had a few more seconds before they’d been interrupted then, Erik might have been able to understand what  _ being on the team _ truly meant for Charles. Perhaps, if Charles had been kicked off the team, his parents would have decided to take him away after all?

Erik suddenly stops in his tracks only a few steps from his bedroom door, his stomach turning over.

_ What if that’s what they’re doing now? _

Football’s over after all. But their _ exams,  _ they’ve got exams in three weeks.  _ Charles _ has exams. They can’t...they wouldn’t…

Erik runs the last few steps, his blood rushing in his ears, a canon of  _ ‘No, no, no, no, no, no’ _ in his head. 

_ It can’t be true. They can’t do this. _

He rips open the door and bolts inside, looking wildly to Charles’ side of the room, his posters on the wall, his stuff spread over his desk —

But it’s all gone. The walls and desk are bare, the wardrobe open and empty, the bed stripped. Not a single piece of Charles’ belongings is anywhere to be seen.

Erik sinks to his knees, a loud wail leaving his throat.

No. No.  _ No! _

He has to steady himself on his hands to stop his head from hitting the floor as everything goes black for a second.

Charles.  _ Charles! _

Erik has to force himself to take a few long and steadying breaths. He can’t lose it now. He can’t. He has to focus. He has to find Charles before it’s too late. He has to  _ stop _ them. They can’t take him. Not  _ his, Erik’s,  _ Charles. He won’t let them.

But as Erik forces himself up on his shaking legs, he can already hear a familiar female voice outside his window, where the cars are usually parked, accompanied by the crushing sound of several people’s footsteps on gravel.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!

Erik has never run so fast in his entire life.

He’s out of the door, through the corridor, down the stairs and through the entrance hall before he’s properly considered what on earth he’s going to do next, and then he’s outside, dashing along the building, towards the parking lot.

It’s almost empty, apart from a few of the teachers’ cars and also a large, expensive-looking black vehicle, the only one with its boot open, a large duffle bag being loaded into it by a man in uniform. 

And then there’s Charles.

Charles, whose face is hidden because he’s just now getting into the back seat of the car, while his mother and stepfather are still standing outside, looking sour.

But they don’t fucking matter right now. These arseholes won’t stop Erik. He won’t let them.

“Charles!”

Charles turns around at the sound of Erik’s voice, already half in the car, just one foot still on the graveled ground outside. His eyes widen as he sees Erik dashing towards him, but he still doesn’t say anything.

“Charles, please!”

Erik comes to halt right in front of Charles, wheezing, his lungs aching, but he hardly notices it. At least he made it in time.

“We’re leaving!” That’s the commanding voice of Charles’ mother, gesturing to the uniformed man who’s stopped what he’s doing to stare at Erik. The man tears his eyes away from the scene at once, closes the boot, and trudges to the driver’s seat. Charles’ parents both get in the car.

Charles, however, doesn’t move, but gazes at Erik, his lips slightly parted, a soft tinge of pink on his cheeks.

“Charles, don’t go!” Erik begins again, in a pleading tone, which he hates but can’t prevent. “Please don’t. I’m so sorry! I’m a  _ dick! _ Don’t go. They can’t force you.  _ Please.” _

“Charles, close the door!” The icy voice of Charles’ mother is threatening.

_ “Please!”  _ Erik can tell that his eyes are getting red, tears slowly welling up inside him, way out of his control. His heart is beating furiously in his throat. He wishes Charles would say something, but he seems dumbstruck, or maybe paralyzed, by surprise or fear, Erik can’t tell. 

“Please, Charles! Forget about them. Don’t let them tell you what to do. Don’t go!”

“Charles!” Charles’ mother reaches over from the other side of the rear bench seat, trying to pull Charles properly inside, but he won’t move.

“Erik…” he begins softly, desperately, but then words seem to fail him. He swallows, just shaking his head slightly.

“Stay, Charles, please,” Erik begins again. He becomes aware of heads poking out of the windows above them. Of course the students must have heard him yell. Let them listen though. It doesn’t fucking matter anymore anyway. Nothing matters as long as Charles doesn’t leave. “I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have — Don’t go!  _ Don’t leave me.” _

Charles opens his mouth again, his eyes, too, now red, but again he doesn’t seem to be able to say more than “Erik…” softly.

Charles’ mother pulls at her son again, making him lose balance and tumble backwards into the seat, his foot leaving the ground. She reaches for the door to pull it close, but Erik grabs hold of it automatically, blood boiling at the sight of Charles being manhandled like this, his face suddenly burning.

“Charles!” he says again, more forcefully this time. Charles is slipping away from him, and he can’t let it happen. He won’t. He can’t lose  _ Charles.  _ “Fucking  _ do _ something!  _ Say _ something! Don’t let them push you around! You’re 18 for  _ fuck’s _ sake! Decide for yourself!”

Charles looks as though he wants to speak, but at that moment his mother leans over and pulls the door shut with a force that Erik wouldn’t have thought possible. It pulls him forward and he almost collides with the car.

The engine growls awake.

“No!” Erik yells, panic rising in his chest. “No!  _ Stop!” _

_ It’s happening. It’s actually fucking happening. _

He pulls at the door, but it must be locked from inside, and won’t budge. Charles isn’t helping either, just staring, horrified, paralyzed.

“Charles!” 

The car begins to slowly move forward, and Erik walks along with it, his hands and face pressed against the window, staring inside at the one person he can’t lose, the one person who means  _ everything. _

“Charles, no!” he yells again, tears streaming down his face now, though he hardly notices. “Charles, don’t go!  _ I love you! _ Don’t go!”

He’s breaking in a run now to keep up with the accelerating speed of the car. Charles’ eyes are widening again, his mouth opening, but the car has picked up so much speed by now that Erik can’t keep up anymore, and so Charles’ face slips from his sight, replaced by the back of the car, picking up more and more speed, getting smaller and smaller until it disappears around a corner.

Erik sinks to his knees, slamming his fists into the gravel and dirt, not caring that it breaks his skin, that his hands still hurt from the fight the day before. Tears stream down his face and he sobs uncontrollably, as panic, despair, and anger all sweep over him, swallowing him whole, making everything else fade into nothingness, only one thought left in his mind.

_ Charles. _

 

Erik doesn’t go to lunch an hour later. He curls up in his bed, facing the wall, unable to bear the sight of the half-empty room, of Charles’ walls and bed stripped bare, of every trace of him removed from the room.

Erik doesn’t feel like seeing anyone else, least of all those fucking arseholes whose fault it is that all of this happened in the first place. If they weren’t such homophobic dickheads, if they hadn’t forced them into hiding in the first place, none of this shit would have happened —or at least it’s easier to tell himself that than consider the fact that his outburst caused it. If only he’d been able to keep his fucking gob shut…

Erik grabs his blanket more tightly and pulls it up over his head, muffling the renewed sobs forcing themselves out of him.

He’s fucked it up. He’s fucked everything up so badly. And now he won’t ever—

_ Charles... _

Erik reaches behind himself for his phone on his bedside cabinet. Of course he would have heard if Charles had replied, but perhaps Charles has at least  _ received _ all of Erik’s messages by now.

Erik glances at the screen. There are all the messages he sent. No answer of course. He knew that already.

_ [To: Charles, 11:18 am _

_ Charles, are you there? _

_ Charles? _

_ Please, if you get this, say something _

_ Charles, I’m so sorry! _

_ PLEASE] _

And the tiny word below them,  _ ‘sent’. _

So Charles still hasn’t even  _ got _ Erik’s messages. Why doesn’t he turn on his fucking phone? Doesn’t he care? No, he does, he definitely does, the look on his face when the car left—but why didn’t he  _ say _ something?

Erik groans, tossing his phone back onto his bedside cabinet and turning towards the wall again, hugging his legs to his chest, feeling sick.

_ Please, Charles, just reply. Read the messages. Talk to me. _

What if Charles never reads them? What if he gets a new phone? What if he never truly understands what he means to Erik? But Erik told him, didn’t he? And Charles heard, his eyes—he definitely heard, but—

Erik buries his face into his pillow and  _ screams,  _ but he doubts that anybody will hear him, muffled by his pillow. They’re all at lunch. And it’s probably not possible for them to think he’s any more of a freak than they already do anyway.

 

Nobody comes looking for him after lunch, though Erik can hear them laughing and gabbing outside and in the corridor. It’s not as though anybody gives a damn about whether Erik’s alright or not, they never have. Nobody apart from Charles. And he’s gone, still hasn’t even switched on his stupid phone—Erik’s only means of contacting him—and by the looks of it Erik will probably never hear from him again.

 

Noon fades into afternoon and then into evening, and Erik still doesn’t get up.

What for anyway? Studying? As if he could concentrate on school work...and what else is there now anyway?

The voices fade away after the bell has rung for dinner and everything around Erik falls quiet again. His stomach rumbles and aches, but at the same time he still doesn’t feel hungry at all, or rather he doesn’t feel like going to the dining hall and eating, facing all the other boys after what they overheard this very morning. It’s basically Shaw’s wet dream come true. It’ll be a fucking nightmare to see him. No, definitely not today. Not as long as he doesn’t have to.

The voices grow louder again in the corridor, boys walking past, talking, laughing, possibly at Erik, at what they overheard this morning, or maybe at something unrelated. Erik hardly listens, but watches the shadows the sun paints on his bedroom wall slowly shift higher and grow taller, then turn yellow, orange, red, until they grow fainter, and finally become one with the blackness.

Erik still doesn’t move. He’s not exactly tired, but he nevertheless feels fucking exhausted. He’s been in bed all day, though he hasn’t slept. He’s not done  _ anything _ to make him feel this way, but he can’t even find the energy in himself to get up and brush his teeth. He just stares at the dark wall, listening to the silence surrounding him, trying hard not to think about anything at all, because every thought that does manage to seep into his mind is painful, sickening, shattering. It’s no use though. One face, one  _ name _ keeps coming back, at least whenever Erik reaches over to check his phone again, only to still see nothing but the word ‘sent’ underneath his own messages.

Charles.

Every time Erik reads the name again, combined with the crushing realisation that there’s still no reaction from Charles, not even a sign that Charles cares even enough to  _ turn on his damn phone,  _ Erik’s stomach churns, his chest tightens, and he feels like throwing his own phone against the wall, smash it into a thousand pieces. But then...how would he  _ ever _ be able to contact Charles again?

 

Erik’s not sure whether he’s slept at all when the first rays of sunshine creep into his room again. He certainly feels as though he hasn’t, but is it even possible to lie awake all night and not drift off every now and again?

The idea of facing the other boys again, especially after everything that happened, after what they’ve witnessed him say and do the morning before, is pure horror, but what choice does he have? He has class after all, and he knows he’s got to eat sooner or later or he’ll just collapse in front of everyone—and that’s the very last thing he wants. At least he can try and avoid the dining hall when everyone else is there at breakfast. It’s worked all those last weeks too, hasn’t it?

With some effort Erik manages to heave himself out of his bed and get dressed—determinedly turned away from Charles’ side of the room, so as not to be forced to look at the blank space that used to be inhabited by the one person that mattered in this hellhole of a school. But he can still feel Charles’ absence in everything he does. When he struggles with his tie again, for instance, and Charles doesn’t come running to help him (though, to be fair, there was no help from Charles during those horrible last few weeks either), or when he walks to the door without tripping over a book or a piece of clothing that Charles left lying around. The floor is clear and tidy for once, but Erik already misses the chaos—the room looks lifeless without it. Cold and unfriendly.

Suddenly Erik can’t wait to leave it behind.

 

The one good thing that can be said about the morning is that Erik’s plan works and the first time he comes face to face with some of his fellow students is in his history class after breakfast. It’s not the worst class for this either because not a single guy from the football team is in it. That doesn’t mean that they don’t mock him, or flick stuff at him though. He can’t say or do anything without them giggling or making obscene noises usually.

It’s different today though. The moment Erik enters the classroom a deadly silence spreads and he can feel their stares on him, though they quickly avert their eyes as soon as he turns towards them. It kind of feels as though somebody close to Erik has died, which makes him the centre of attention, yet nobody wants to admit that they’re staring, and nobody wants to say anything that might be insensitive. But that’s bullshit. Nobody’s ever given a damn about being insensitive. Not to him anyway.

Erik shuffles to his seat and sits down, looking determinedly at the whiteboard, trying to act as though he doesn’t notice the sudden silence, as though he can’t feel their stares which make the skin on the back of his neck prickle.

Erik tries to be invisible in class, as always. He’s never been one to raise his hand—if you know you’re a target anyway making yourself more visible is about the stupidest thing you can do—even though he often knows the right answer, and inwardly shakes his head incredulously at some of his classmates’ idiotic responses. He can’t stay quiet when his name gets called however, and so he braces himself for the sneering, the noises and the projectiles before he opens his mouth to answer his teacher’s question.

Erik’s not the only person who’s surprised when there’s no subsequent bout of giggling and fart noises. Mr. Williams, their teacher actually pauses for a moment and stares at the students in front of him, apparently confused. Then he shakes his head slightly and continues with his teaching, leaving Erik frowning, bewildered, but also nervous at the sudden change in atmosphere.

What the hell—?

 

The first student to actually address Erik again is, of course, Sebastian Shaw, who gets up from his table when Erik enters the dining hall for lunch and steps right in his way. 

He looks bad, a lot like Erik in fact. Part of his face is still swollen and violet, and there’s a cut over his left eyebrow and one across his cheek. It makes his sneer look a little ridiculous, but it’s definitely a sneer nevertheless.

“Well, homo,” he begins, grabbing hold of Erik’s shirt to stop him from walking away. “Still here? Did your boyfriend save your arse then?”

Erik’s teeth are clenched already, but he’s determined not to let Shaw get to him again. He just tries to pull himself free, but Shaw won’t let go.

“I heard your romantic little declaration of love yesterday. Very cute, homo.  _ Adorable.”  _

One person laughs. Andy Roberts of course, though surprisingly he’s the only footballer that has followed Shaw across the room. A look towards the table tells Erik that all the others are still sitting there, all appearing very busy eating their lunch and determinedly not looking in their direction.

How very interesting.

Erik feels himself straightening up, even though he knows that he still won’t stand a chance against Shaw and Roberts together. He’s not deluding himself either—if it comes to a fight, none of the other boys will stand up for him, but nevertheless something in the dynamic has shifted, whyever that may be.

Shaw’s not done with him yet however. “He left though, didn’t he? Looks like your little boyfriend doesn’t love you back, ey, homo?”

It’s strange that those words sting much less now that they’re not met with laughter all around. They still hurt, probably because there’s way too much truth in them, but they’re not forcing the blood into Erik’s face, they’re not making his ears buzz. Knowing this makes Erik feel more in control of himself than he’s ever felt when provoked by Shaw.

It doesn’t fucking matter what Shaw says. He knows nothing. He _ is nothing. _

“Go fuck yourself,” says Erik quietly but clearly, wrenching his shirt out of Shaw’s grasp. “You piece of shit.”

He sidesteps Shaw and his henchman and walks on towards his seat at the back of his room. He half expects one of them to attack him from behind. He’s ready for an attack, ready to defend himself, even if it means that he’ll really get expelled this time.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Shaw starts shouting obscenities in Erik’s direction, while Andy Roberts audibly cracks his knuckles. It sounds ridiculous, small, weak, almost panicky. The insults just bounce off of Erik’s back and disappear into nothingness, he’s never felt so immune to them. A few of the other students glance at him as he walks past, but nobody looks as though they might join in anytime soon. Nobody laughs, nobody tries to trip him up, nobody looks at him as though he’s some kind of slug. There’s no echo to Shaw’s yells and so they die away rather quickly, and when Erik reaches his seat and glances back he can’t spot Shaw anywhere.

Despite all the misery, despair, and fear that has been crushing him for almost two days, Erik can’t help his face glowing and his heart beating fast as he helps himself to a sandwich and some carrots, not a single eye turned in his direction.

_ He won this. _ Shaw looked like a fucking idiot and everyone saw it. Erik’s fucking won this one time. Whatever may happen next, at least he’s beaten Shaw today.

He’s not an idiot. He knows this might not last. Maybe the other boys still don’t know how to deal with the fact that their beloved Charles turned out to be gay, maybe they’re afraid because they saw Erik beat up Shaw the day before, maybe they’re just waiting to see what happens next, maybe it’ll all be back to normal the next day, or maybe it’s changed for good. Erik has no idea what it is or what will be, but  _ something _ has changed, something has shifted in his favour for now.

And he’ll enjoy it while it lasts. It’s the only thing he’s got after all.

 

Erik’s almost done eating when a sudden unexpected voice almost makes him jump in his seat.

“Um...Erik?”

He glances up and turns around, bewildered to hear his first name though nobody but Charles has ever used it in here, to see McCoy of the chess and debate group stand waiting there, shifting awkwardly from side to side, a few other geeks behind him.

Erik raises his eyebrows, totally confused as to why these people, who’ve always made sure to give him a wide berth, are suddenly there, apparently wanting to talk to him. 

“What is it?” Erik’s voice sounds more apprehensive and defensive than he’d like, and he can see McCoy swallow, though he doesn’t turn away and flee.

“I’m Hank McCoy,” McCoy says unnecessarily.

_ I know that. You’re in my fucking electronics class,  _ Erik thinks, but he doesn’t say anything. He just watches McCoy apprehensively, waiting for more.

“We just—well…” McCoy looks extremely uncomfortable. “We’re the—we play chess sometimes, and—” He swallows again. “If you want, you can join us. Only—if you want and—Charles said you like chess too,” he finishes, blushing slightly.

Erik stares at the bespectacled boy in front of him. He’s never had anything against McCoy personally, he’s never hated the boy like so many others. He resented that McCoy and his friends wouldn’t let him join, but he also kind of understood  _ why _ they did it. They’ve never treated him badly otherwise, they’ve mostly ignored him. They could well have ended up friends had the circumstances been different. McCoy’s clever, and not a bad person from what Erik knows and hears. He probably knows a lot of interesting things and might even be fun to be around. And yet…

“Thanks for the offer,” says Erik slowly. “But I’m good.”

The blush on McCoy’s cheek becomes more pronounced as he nods. “Okay, um...I just wanted to let you know that...um...if you change your mind, you can—anytime, you know.”

“Right,” says Erik, attempting to smile. It hurts though. “Thanks.”

He stares after the small group of geeks as they scurry away again, wondering how on earth it’s possible his life at St. John’s gets turned around like this in the very last weeks—and why it couldn’t happen while Erik still cared, before he lost the one person without whom it all seems so fucking unimportant.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) is amazing!

The three weeks leading up to the exams are horrible in many ways, and completely weird in others.

Erik’s heart is shattered, bleeding, never to be whole again as it seems. Charles’ absence is palpable every single second of every day. Erik eats, drinks, sleeps, and studies with Charles on his mind, in his heart, everywhere. He carries his phone around in the pocket of his trousers and glances at it every chance he gets, only to still see the word  _ ‘sent’ _ underneath his messages.

He should give up really, and accept that Charles for some reason must have gotten rid of his phone, and most likely purchased a new one by now. But it’s so fucking hard when Erik knows so well that it’s the only means he has of contacting his best-friend-ex-boyfriend-only-person-that-matters again, and that this might mean they’ll never see or talk to each other again. And that’s just something he can’t get into his head.

It’s not an option.

Erik  _ needs _ Charles.

If Charles had told him loud and clear that he didn’t want anything to do with him, it would be a different matter. Erik would be able to accept that, he’d have to — to make Charles happy, even if it would tear his heart into tiny pieces, but now...he’s seen the look on Charles’ face, when Erik told him he loved him. And it meant something. It did. So how could Erik just give up on him? How could he just allow Charles’ stupid, selfish parents to take him away against his will, and just let him go? 

Even though there’s no message, nothing from Charles, Erik just knows, somehow, that Charles wouldn’t want to be let go.

And so he holds on, though it rips him apart, and it seems there’s nothing he can do right now but keep thinking, keep hoping, keep checking his phone, and wait for school to be over.

Erik studies just enough to make sure he’ll do alright at his A-levels, and the rest of the time he disappears into the attic, into his now stiflingly hot hideout, where he pulls out his knife and works on his chess set as if his life depends on it. He doesn’t really know why he does it, or what difference it’ll make, but somehow  _ chess _ means  _ Charles _ , and just working on it makes Erik feel a little closer to him, as if he could bring Charles back by finishing it.

What’s weird about his remaining time at school is how different it is from all the rest. It’s not as though he has any friends (and he really doesn’t want any either), but somehow, for some reason, he’s now getting the chance to become invisible like the rest of the geeks. Nobody pays him any attention anymore, apart from Shaw and his sidekick Andy Roberts who still trip him up every now and again and yell obscenities at him. But it just doesn’t matter as much now, because nobody else laughs anymore. They just walk past as if they hadn’t heard, and so Erik manages to escape them quickly most of the time.

 

When their exams are over and it’s time for Erik to leave his room and the school forever, Erik’s not exactly wistful, but he’s not as elated and relieved as he’d thought either. After all, it doesn’t make that big of a difference anymore, because — even though Erik’s leaving now, and even though he was so unhappy there most of the time —it’s not as though he’ll feel any better at his mother’s home.

Charles won’t be there after all.

Erik packs his bags in silence, storing everything carefully away, but takes a moment to set up his new and finished chess set on Charles’ desk—the place where his old and ugly one sat for months. It looks so right there, and even though there’s no sign of Charles left in the room, it kind of feels as though they’re about to start playing. Erik just stares at it for a moment, and then, as though some kind of energy suddenly runs through him, he hurriedly rummages in his backpack for his phone, opens the window of his and Charles’ conversation and—

—sinks down on his stripped bed again, crushed and desperate. He was so sure for a moment, that Charles had finally replied, but there’s still nothing more than the word ‘sent’ underneath Erik’s messages.

Stupid of him, really, and idiotically superstitious to think that this chess set could bring Charles back in any way. He doesn’t normally believe in shit like that.

It takes Erik a few minutes to find the strength to get back up and finish packing all his belongings. When everything is packed, he just stands in the middle of the room for several more minutes, lost and unsure what to feel. He hated this place with every fibre of his being, but it was also the place that he and Charles spent so much time together—and it’s one of the only two places they’ve ever been together. Even though Erik’s not at all sad to leave all the misery behind him, it also kind of feels as though he’s losing Charles a second time by saying goodbye to their room, their beds, their hiding place (which he already did the night before). It just seems even more unlikely that he’ll ever see Charles again once he’s left St. John’s, because he’s never seen Charles in any other place.

If that makes sense. Though nothing really does lately.

His thoughts carry him all the way down the stairs, through the entrance hall, and outside onto the parking lot, and he nearly misses Sebastian Shaw pass him, almost knocking him over with his bag. Erik’s too slow to react, and so Shaw’s already several feet ahead of him and about to get in his father’s car before Erik can retaliate. Maybe that’s a good thing because he doesn’t really need any trouble on his last day. On the other hand, it seems an awful shame to just let Shaw leave like that, after everything he’s done to Erik over the last years.

He doesn’t have to hit him. There are other ways to vent one’s anger a little, get at least some of it off his chest.

“Oi, Shaw!” Erik calls after his tormentor. 

A few other boys who are also on their way outside turn their heads in Erik’s direction. Shaw pauses, one foot already inside the car, turning around to look at Erik too.

“Get fucked,” says Erik calmly, before he gives Shaw the finger, then walks slowly on, exhaling a long and slow breath.

It’s not much. Shaw deserves much worse. But at least it’s something.

 

Erik doesn’t do much when he gets home at first, but mostly just sits around the house all day, waiting for his mother to finish work, then helps her prepare dinner, all the while not saying much, mostly lost in thought and misery.

It’s not until his third day back that Edie seems to finally lose patience with his gloomy behaviour and taciturnity.

“Erik, talk to me,” she says at dinner, after 20 minutes of silence. “What’s wrong?”

Erik tries to shrug it off. “Nothing. Just...nothing.”

She sighs. Even though she’s very interested in his life to the point of being almost intrusive, easily worried and perceptive, she’s always been accepting of his decision when he didn’t want to talk, always trusting him to open up about his problems when he’s ready, constantly reminding him that she’s ready to listen, but never forcing anything out of him, and so he’s a little surprised when she doesn’t let it go, but keeps on pushing him to talk to her.

“Don’t pretend. I can tell that there’s something.”

Erik doesn’t say anything. Part of him wants to talk, but another wants to bury it deep inside himself forever.

“Erik, please,” she begs. “Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t,” he croaks, in spite of himself. “Nobody can. Only—but he won’t.”

Feeling he’s said too much already, Erik stares down at his plate, his ears starting to burn.

“Who’s ‘he’, Erik?” Edie asks quietly. “Charles?”

Erik swallows, his heart beating in his throat. But what use is there in pretending anymore? She’s going to find out anyway, if she hasn’t guessed already. And wasn’t keeping quiet about stuff what got them into trouble in the first place? Besides, she’s the last person to judge him or react negatively in any way. He can trust her, he knows it.

He nods.

She takes his hand. “What happened?”

The words come only slowly, and sometimes they get stuck in his throat, so he has to take a short break, take a sip of water, before he can continue. His mother doesn’t interrupt him once, but listens intently, holding his hand, softly stroking it with her thumb, and looking at him with understanding, but also pain, in her eyes.

“He’s not responding,” Erik says finally, his voice croaky, blinking away a few tears. “He’s not even received my messages. I think he must have gotten a new phone. And I don’t know how to reach him.” He swallows, wiping his eyes with the back of his other hand.

His mother doesn’t say anything for a moment, but keeps gently stroking the back of his hand. “Do you know where he lives?” she then asks quietly.

Erik shakes his head. “Not really. I don’t even know the name of the town. Just that it’s in New York—the state, not the city,” he adds as he sees his mother’s eyes widen.

“Have you tried...googling him?”

Erik just stares at her. “No, I haven’t,” he says slowly.

“Well, why don’t you do that first? Maybe they have a landline number. It’s worth a try,” she adds with a small smile. “It does sound to me as though it might not be his own decision that he hasn’t replied to you.”

 

It’s idiotic of him, really, that he hasn’t tried the most obvious things himself already. He’s still not convinced that it’ll lead to anything, but he should have  _ tried _ it at once. He types ‘Charles Xavier New York’ into Google, not really expecting it to come up with anything, quite sure that he’ll have to try tons of other queries. He knows Charles doesn’t use Facebook after all (“Who should I talk to on there?” Charles said when Erik asked him. “You’re here with me, and I don’t need it to chat with my sister. Why should I bother?”), and he’s never mentioned any other kind of social media to Erik either. Now that Erik thinks of it, all of that might have been a precaution to prevent his parents from spying on him.

Unsurprisingly there are no results from any social media sites, but still a ton of other websites, including the one of the Xavier family business as well as articles on several news sites.

_ ‘The Xavier-Marko family - a portrait’ _

_ ‘Glitz and glamour - an evening at the Xavier charity ball.’ _

And then, below those:

_ ‘Charles Xavier: Is the Xavier heir harboring a dark secret?’ _

Erik exhales a long breath. “Heilige Scheiße,” he mumbles.

His mother gives him a disapproving look, but doesn’t reprimand him for his language. “See if you can find a phone number anywhere.”

It’s not easy. All the numbers on their webpage are obviously business numbers, Charles’ family seem to have made sure that nobody can get through to them easily—probably because of the press. In the end Erik calls the secretary, and—unable to think of a good story to convince her—simply tells her (almost) the truth about him and Charles being school friends and him being unable to reach him. Erik’s more than surprised when she gives him the number without too many questions, but tells him not to mention where he got it, then wishes him luck before she hangs up.

_ Luck? What for? _

Erik’s heart beats furiously in his chest as he dials the number with shaking fingers, his mother standing behind him, gripping his shoulders a little too tightly.

It rings.

Suddenly it doesn’t seem like a great idea anymore. What if it’s Charles who picks up? _ Holy shit,  _ what is Erik going to say to him?  _ Fuck, _ he should have thought about this earlier. What if no words come out? What if—?

_ “You’ve reached Xavier house. How can I help you?” _

Erik sinks into his chair, feeling a little sick. It’s not Charles, definitely not. It’s a woman, with a posh British accent, so not Charles’ mother either. A servant?

_ “Hello?” _

Erik catches himself just in time. “Er...yeah. Hello. This is, um...Erik Lehnsherr. I wanted to talk to Charles. We’re friends from school,” he adds quickly, when there’s a pause at the other end.

_ “One moment, please,”  _ the woman says, and Erik can hear the phone being put down. 

He waits, with bated breath, for something to happen, for Charles to pick up the phone, for the chance to finally talk to him again, but it stays still for several minutes, and when the phone gets picked up again at last, it’s not Charles on the other end, but the woman again.

_ “Mr. Lehnsherr?” _

“Yes?”

_ “I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake. You probably have the wrong number. Goodbye.” _

And before Erik can say another word, she hangs up on him.

“What—?” Erik stares at the phone in his hand, hardly able to believe it. Is everyone in the whole fucking universe against them? But now that he’s come so far, he won’t stop, he won’t let them do this anymore. “Oh no, you don’t,” he forces out through clenched teeth, pressing redial.

This time it only rings once, then a mechanical voice answers.  _ “You’ve reached the number—” _

“No!” Erik yells, tossing the phone across the room. “Fucking  _ no!” _

“What is it?” asks Edie, alarmed.

“They’ve blocked the number!” Erik yells. “They’ve fucking blocked me!”

It’s silent for a moment, then his mother speaks again. “Use a different number.”

“What’s the point?” Erik moans. “Charles won’t answer. He probably doesn’t even know I’ve called, and then they’ll just block me again.”

He’s so frustrated, so fucking angry and miserable and  _ hopeless _ that he can’t stand it anymore. He gets up from his chair, throws himself on his bed, and pulls his pillow up over his head, muffling the scream escaping his throat.

What on earth is he going to do if the whole fucking world is conspiring against him and Charles? How can he get past them, to Charles? Because he won’t fucking let them do this. He won’t. He’ll fight them. But  _ how? _

Erik can hear the bed creak as his mother sits down on the edge of the mattress, then he feels her hand on his back. He tosses the pillow away and turns his head to face her. 

“What can I do?” He hates that his voice sounds so desperate.

She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t know, Schatz, I really don’t,” she says then. “Well, you could call them from another number, and make up a story, so they’ll let you talk to him without knowing it’s you.”

Erik thinks about this for a moment. “Do you think this will work?”

She sighs. “Probably not. They’ll always see it’s a German number, and they’ll be cautious now, won’t they?”

They fall silent again, Erik staring unseeing into the room, his mother’s soothing hand still on his back.

 

It takes Erik a few days to get himself together again, and start doing things. The first thing he does is get a job through his mother’s friend, in a garage, washing cars.

He’s only needed there for about two hours a day, so it doesn’t pay much, but he’s really got nothing else to do. He’s not applied for any university after all, or an apprenticeship. He’ll have to think long and hard about what he wants to do with his life and then apply for something, so he can hopefully start sometime next year. And for now…

For now he’ll just try to get through the day without cracking up completely.

Plus, if he manages to make enough money, maybe he can start looking for Charles at some point. He’ll never manage to scrape enough before September, when Charles will in all likelihood be gone from his American home and have left for university. Not that Charles’ parents would allow Erik to come anywhere near Charles while Charles lives with them anyway. No, if Erik is to find Charles, it can’t be near his parents.

Charles always wanted to go to Oxford. Maybe he will do so, and maybe Erik can find him there. It’s a slim chance, but at least it’s a chance.

_ If _ Charles still wants to see him that is. It’s likely that he won’t, especially after what Erik did to him. It’s also possible that Charles  _ never _ cared as much as Erik hoped. True, Erik now knows that Charles was under a lot of pressure when he dropped Erik and cozied up to Shaw and the other idiots, but that doesn’t mean that Charles feels about Erik the same way Erik feels about him. It’s possible that Erik’s simply still trying to keep hope alive where there really isn’t any. The thought is terrible, crushing, heart-wrenching, and sometimes Erik is close to giving up because the fact that he’s still not heard or seen anything from Charles seems to prove that this is the case. But then he remembers Charles’ face when he was taken away, the way his eyes widened when Erik told him he loved him, the desperation in them as he drove off, the way they just seemed to beg Erik not to let him go, and Erik grits his teeth and keeps on going, determined to keep alive the hope in his heart.

If only he could know for sure whether he’ll see Charles again, talk to him, know how he really feels for definite _.  _ But that seems to be getting less likely with every passing day.

And a lot of days are passing.

June moves into July and then August, slowly, painfully, but determinedly. Erik’s exam results arrive, and he’s done a little better than expected, though nowhere near good enough to get into a good university. His mother’s proud of him nevertheless, and even takes a day off so they can go out and eat large ice-creams together.

Not a day goes by without Erik constantly thinking about what Charles might be doing at that moment, constantly recalculating the time in Charles’ New York timezone in his head.

Charles is probably getting up, now he’s having lunch, maybe he’s playing football...

Is he thinking of Erik too? Does he also get up in the morning to check the time, see that it’s lunchtime where Erik lives? Does he wonder what Erik’s having for lunch? Does he silently wish Erik a goodnight in his late afternoon?

It’s torturous, but Erik can’t help himself. 

The same feelings and questions keep repeating themselves over in his head. Old doubts resurface day after day. There are often times when he tells himself the best thing would be to just forget about Charles, forget about what they had or didn’t have, just forget, and move on. Finally decide on his future, what he wants to do, where he wants to live. Let go and start afresh. It would be the healthiest thing to do, he tells himself.

He can’t do it. Not as long as he doesn’t  _ know _ for sure about Charles and his feelings, not as long as there’s even the tiniest glimmer of hope, whatever and wherever it might be.

 

There’s one day, at the end of August, when it starts raining heavily in the afternoon, just when Erik’s about to finish his shift. He doesn’t really care much, he doesn’t really mind the rain, and it’s not as though he’s got anything planned, but it means that he gets home later than usual, because he sits inside the garage for another two hours waiting for the worst of the rain to stop, not exactly fancying getting drenched to the bones.

At some point he knows it’s no good, and so he leaves anyway, not even bothering to cover himself up, because there’s nothing that could keep him dry in this heavy rain. It’s dark outside, much darker and colder than it should be this early in the evening in August, unfriendly, and he can’t wait to reach the warmth, dryness, and safety of his mother’s flat.

Of course, when he gets home he looks and feels like he’s been swimming in the ocean with his clothes on. A hot shower sounds good now, maybe even a cup of tea, and then he’ll wrap himself up in a blanket and watch some idiotic show on the television to stop himself from thinking too much.

He unlocks the door, and steps into the warm and light corridor, just about to call out to his mother to let her know he’s home, when he hears her voice from the living room.

“Oh, he’s here!”

It takes him a moment to realise that she’s speaking English for some reason, but before he can wrap his mind around it, she’s running up to him, an excited blush on her cheeks, beaming more widely than he’s ever seen her do before.

“Oh, Erik, you’ve  _ got _ to come in and see,” she splutters in German, hardly taking the time to properly form the words. “Just wait until you see who’s here!”

But Erik doesn’t need to ‘come in and see’ because at that very moment the person his mother is so eager for him to see steps through the living room door, and Erik lets out an involuntary gasp of surprise.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) is a wonderful beta.

Erik can only stare at Charles standing there, slightly backlit from the light in the living room, his hair a little longer than the last time that Erik saw him, his eyes still blue, his lips still red, looking even more beautiful than Erik’s memory of him. Erik becomes painfully aware of the way his own wet hair is plastered to his face, of his soaked and dirty work clothes. He must look like a wet dog, while Charles is just...perfect in a light-blue shirt and a pair of dark jeans that cling nicely to his gorgeous thighs. Erik feels the heat creep up his face.

He’s not sure what to do, what to say, how to feel. His heart is beating a million times faster than usual, and it’s swelling in Erik’s chest, making it hard for him to breathe.

Charles. It’s  _ Charles. _

There’s a weird urge to laugh out loud, to sing and dance, to hug the whole world, but also something that makes him draw back slightly. Caution? A sense for reality? Self-protection?

_ Don’t fuck this up, Erik. _

Erik’s mind is whirling, hardly making sense, bursting with hope, and  _ possibility.  _ Everything he thought could never be suddenly seems possible again.

_ Charles is here. _

But what if it doesn’t mean what Erik thinks it means? There’s still too much between them, too much they need to talk about, too much that Erik doesn’t know. All those questions.

_ Why didn’t you tell me about your parents? Didn’t you trust me then? Why didn’t you reply after you left? What made you come here now? Did they let you go? Are you still angry about what I did? Do you care about me? _

_ Do you love me? _

“What are you doing here?” The words are out of Erik’s mouth before he’s been able to properly think about what to say. And they come out all wrong. Accusatory, unfriendly.  _ Shit. _

Charles’ face falls. 

“No, I didn’t mean—” Erik tries to repair the damage. “I meant—shit—” It’s really hard to think what to say when he hasn’t even been able to grasp the situation properly. _Charles. Here._ All the _hope_ it implies, all the possibilities. “I’m so glad to see you...” Erik only manages to say, hating how his voice breaks.

But at least Charles smiles now, tentatively, nervously, but he smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing Erik’s seen in months.

“I’m glad to see you too, I—” Charles laughs nervously, before he speaks again, hardly drawing breath the words now tumbling out quickly. “I came to see you, but you weren’t here, so I waited. I’ve been here a while. At one point I thought you weren’t coming home, I was getting worried, but here you are. Look at you, all wet, you should—you know...put on some dry clothes…” His babbling fades away, and his cheeks turn pink. 

Erik’s heart is beating so hard now it hurts. He’s torn between pulling Charles close and just kissing him, holding him never to let him go again, and running away to hide his face, get himself in order, fucking  _ understand _ what’s going on. It’s hardly bearable. The situation is far too overwhelming as it is, especially with his mother standing there, eyeing them both curiously, with a smile on her lips.

“Charles and I had dinner while waiting for you,” she tells Erik in German.

Even though Erik’s nerves are at breaking point, his mind buzzing, his heart racing, he almost laughs at the image of Charles sitting at their tiny dinner table in their tiny living room with Edie, eating dinner. His mother bombarding him with questions in her bad English, while Charles tries to be charming and polite. 

Though hopefully she wasn’t  _ too _ inquisitive.

“Do you want some?” Edie asks. “I put some leftovers in the fridge for you.”

“No, I’m...not hungry.” As if he could eat anything right now. As if he cared about an unimportant thing like  _ food _ at this moment. As if there weren’t a thousand other, more important things right now.

“Well, you just have some later then,” Edie says, patting Erik’s elbow. “Charles seemed to like it. What a lovely boy,” she adds, smiling warmly at Charles, who smiles nervously back, evidently not having understood a word of what she just said. 

Erik can’t suppress a smile there, and Charles gives him, too, a nervous smile in return, which makes Erik’s heart beat even faster.

How on earth is he supposed to find the right words, when all he wants to do is bury his face in Charles’ shoulder and hair and hold him close?

Before Erik can think of something else to say, however, Edie turns to him again. “I think Charles is right though, love. You should take a shower, warm up a little, put on some dry clothes. Charles and I can wait for you here.”

Erik opens his mouth to say something —leaving Charles alone with his mother again seems not like the best thing to do at that moment— then he closes it again, still unable to think of anything to say. She’s not so wrong. They can’t talk here in the corridor, with Erik still in soaking wet clothes, his teeth starting to chatter from the cold. Those are things that need to be dealt with. Besides, taking a shower might be a good idea after all. It might allow him to get his mind in order again. Find the right words.

He nods reluctantly.

Edie gestures for Charles to follow her back into the living room, addressing him in broken English. “Erik is...er...douche.”

This time Erik can’t help a snort of laughter escaping him at the confused look on Charles’ face that is then replaced by a tiny grin.

Erik’s heart performs a somersault at the sight, and it feels lighter all of a sudden, a lot of the tension ebbing away, leaving him almost lightheaded. At least for the moment.  _ God, _ how he missed that look.

Edie throws Erik a mock stern glance, but continues talking to Charles as if nothing had happened. “You want...um...Kekse?”

“Pardon?” Charles asks, apparently torn between wanting to grin at Erik’s amusement, and not wanting to offend Edie.

“Biscuits,” Erik explains, still grinning.

“Oh,” Charles replies, smiling more widely now (How could Erik ever forget just how much Charles’ smiles can light up a room?). ”Sure, I’d love that.”

 

The shower does help Erik getting his mind in order at least a little, but there are far too many things that he needs to know to properly  _ understand,  _ as well as the fact that there are so many things he needs to say, that there’s still quite a lot of nervousness left in him when he faces Charles again, in his room this time, just after Edie has closed the door behind her, whispering “I’ll turn up the volume on the television” into Erik’s ear with a smug look on her face. Erik was really quite thankful then that Charles’ German isn’t that good.

Charles looks around the small room curiously, his eyes trailing over the posters on the wall (old ones, that Erik hasn’t bothered taking down yet), the few photographs, the books, until they fall on the chessboard with the wooden pieces on Erik’s bedside cabinet, and widen in surprise and delight.

“You finished it!” he says softly, walking the two steps over to it and picking up one of the queens, turning the little figurine over in his hand with a tiny smile on his lips. “I didn’t think you would. You’d barely had three figures finished when we...I love it. It’s beautiful,” he adds, glancing over at Erik, still smiling.

There are still so many things that Erik wants to say, so much he needs to know, and so much he needs Charles to know, but the words still won’t come out.

“I made it for you,” he says instead, and he’s surprised that his voice sounds a lot less croaky than before.

Charles’ eyes widen again. “You did?”

“Yeah, I did. During the last weeks at school. I…” Erik chuckles sadly. “For some reason I thought it could bring you back...”

It’s silent for a while. Erik can feel his ears growing hot. In some way it seems bold to admit something like this, too bold, but then again, he’s been saying too little for too long. Maybe now is the time to be bold.

“I wanted to come back,” Charles says quietly after a few moment. “I really did, I—” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

Hearing this, and hearing the pain with which those words are spoken, makes Erik’s heart beat harder again, makes his chest constrict. It’s good to hear it, it makes his hope surge again, and yet it hurts and brings back some of the anger too.

Why did they both have to suffer like this? It’s not right.

“I sent you a lot of messages, but you never got them,” Erik croaks, his voice betraying the jumble of emotions inside him.

“Really?” Charles smiles sadly. “I hoped you might have—and then I hoped you hadn’t because I couldn’t reply. My stepfather took my phone, and—Well, I got a new one, but I just couldn’t remember your number.” He exhales a shaking breath. “I was  _ so angry _ with myself that I never bothered to memorize it before it was too late. I should have known. And if only I had, I—I would’ve been able to talk to you much earlier.”

Erik needs a moment to process this information. He suspected—no,  _ hoped _ that it was—something like this, but it still makes him fucking angry. “He  _ took your phone?  _ What, so you couldn’t talk to me?”

There’s still a sad smile on Charles’ lips. “I guess so. I think he hoped I’d forget about you and...us.”

They fall silent again for a few seconds, Erik being unsure what to say. He wants to curse Charles’ stepfather, rage about the injustice, and yet it doesn’t seem like the right thing to talk about right now. 

And there’s the way Charles said  _ ‘us’, _ which still hangs between them.

“I didn’t, though,” says Charles quietly. “I didn’t forget. I thought about you every day, trying to work out how to see you again.”

Erik’s heart is beating in his throat now. He can hardly breathe, he can’t swallow, but he can still talk in a croaky voice. “I tried too, Charles. I know it doesn’t look like—but I tried. I called your landline number, but they blocked me.”

_ “What? _ I didn’t know—” It’s only the second time ever that Erik sees Charles angry. “Shit. Those  _ fucking—Fuck them!  _ Those fucking bastards!”

For some reason Charles’ outburst breaks the tension somewhat. Erik feels himself relax slightly. Maybe it’s because he finally sees his own rage reflected back from Charles’ face, maybe it’s because he finally knows for sure that none of it was Charles’ doing. 

What this also does, however, is bring back Erik’s own guilt, brings it back cruelly. And suddenly there are things he needs to get off his chest.

“Charles, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” Charles looks confused.  _ “You _ didn’t make them—”

“Not that! I mean...I shouldn’t have told everyone—back at school—during the celebrations—it was wrong, and I’m so sorry, I—I was angry and—but that’s not an excuse.  _ Nothing _ is. I fucked up, Charles. In the worst way. And I’m just....I’m so sorry.”

And he stares at Charles with the pleading look on his face that he hates but can’t prevent right now, because this is what he’s been secretly worrying about all along. That Charles might not forgive him his worst crime. Erik knows only too well that Charles would have every right not to forgive him.

“Erik…” 

Charles’ voice is softer than ever, but he doesn’t walk over to throw his arms around Erik, like he’d surely done a few months earlier. Not now though, because there’s still too much hanging between them to keep them apart. Now, Charles just stands there, next to Erik’s bed, looking at him with warmth in his eyes that Erik doesn’t think he deserves, and yet he wants and needs it.

“Thank you for that. I...” Charles sighs. “I’m not going to lie. It was horrible. It hurt like hell, but I also definitely felt that I deserved it.”

“You didn’t!” Erik blurts out. “Nothing could make you deserve that. I was a dick to you, Charles, and I’m sorry.”

There’s a painful look on Charles’ face. “It was wrong, yes, but what I did was worse. Everything. Starting with...I should have told you from the start—about my family, about everything that was at stake—I should’ve explained to you what would happen if word got out about us, about me being gay. I should have told you they’d force me to leave. I—I was a fucking idiot not to talk to you about that. Somehow I managed to kid myself that you’d simply guess, that you’d  _ know _ how I felt about you and that I was just trying to protect...well... _ us _ . But that was stupid of me. How could you have guessed, when all those times I acted as though—I’m so fucking  _ stupid, _ Erik. I’m sorry.”

Charles looks desperately over to Erik, appearing close to tears.

“It’s all my fault, really. If I had just  _ talked _ to you, you might have been able to understand  _ why _ I acted like—like a complete  _ dick _ a lot of the time. And I’m sorry about that too. I’m sorry I never stood up for you, I’m sorry I renounced you in front of the others, I’m sorry I didn’t step in at that stupid party. Every time he hit you I wanted—but I was just so fucking scared of what would happen, of them taking me away, of Kurt—” Charles takes a deep breath, apparently in an effort to steady himself. “I hated myself  _ so much _ in that moment, but I just couldn’t—I thought I did it for the right reasons, but...you suffered, and I didn’t do anything about it. I was paralyzed at the thought of what might happen. To  _ us, _ but also to me. You don’t know what he’s like...Kurt. He’s a bloody—but still that’s not an excuse. I was a dick. I was just—I’m so sorry.” 

Charles takes another shaking breath. “Never again,” he adds then, quietly. “I promise you, I’ll be brave from now on, I’ll never do that to you again. I’ll make sure nobody treats you like that again, if you…” Charles’ voice trails away and he swallows.

It’s quiet for a moment. Erik can’t take his eyes off of Charles’ flushed and desperate face. He wants nothing more than to hug Charles, to kiss his despair away. And yet everything that Charles just said are things Erik felt himself. He felt betrayed, abandoned, renounced. And it fucking hurt.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Erik asks quietly. “Didn’t you trust me? I mean, looking back I kind of get it, I guess. I betrayed you in the end, didn’t I?”

Charles shakes his head. “No, that wasn’t it. I did trust you. And don’t tell me you betrayed me, when I fucked us up so bad in the first place.” He rubs his eyes. “No, I think I...I don’t know. I just didn’t want to think about it. About them. My parents. I was so happy.  _ You _ made me so happy—happier than I’d ever been before. And I just didn’t want  _ them _ to get between us, I didn’t want them there. Maybe I wanted to pretend they didn’t exist or something. But in the end my not wanting them there got me—got  _ us _ —exactly what I’d never wanted to happen in the first place. But once I’d realised that you didn’t want to talk to me anymore—which I don’t blame you for in the slightest” he adds quickly. “Even then...I was so desperate to talk to you, but at the same time I felt I deserved the way you ignored me, so I couldn’t  _ force _ you to talk to me. It was all just so fucked up, and...I’m so sorry.”

Charles swallows again, then goes on. “To be honest, I’d almost given up hope that you could ever like me again, especially after that party, after what I allowed to happen. What they did to you, while I just stood by, doing  _ nothing.  _ And then you told them I was gay, and at that moment I was sure it was over, that you hated me forever, and I knew that I deserved it. I kind of...gave up in that moment. I was...I didn’t think I could do anything to ever make it up to you again. I thought it was over for sure. I didn’t have any hope—until you ran after the car, until you told me—that’s when I started to hope again…”

They fall silent once more, Charles staring at the floor, his ears bright red.

There are a thousand more questions burning on Erik’s mind—everything that happened after Charles left St. John’s, and how come he came to see Erik tonight. What changed to make him leave his parents house to find Erik. But there’s also something that Erik needs to do. Desperately.

“Can I kiss you?” Erik hears himself ask. It’s been on his mind all the time while Charles spoke. The longing to just hold and feel Charles again is overwhelming.

Charles looks up. There are actual tears in his eyes now, but also a hopeful glimmer. He just nods.

Two steps and Erik’s there, taking Charles’ face gently in both his hands, tilting his head up and finally pressing his lips to Charles’. Something like a sob escapes Charles’ mouth as one of his hand finds its way into Erik’s hair, the other around Erik’s waist, grabbing hold of his t-shirt.

They’ve never kissed like this before. Their lips brush tentatively against each other, not hungrily like they used to. It feels as though they both can hardly believe that this is real, and as though they’re afraid that it might be snatched away again at any moment. It’s hardly more than a soft caress, and yet it sends a quiver down Erik’s spine. 

_ How long _ has he been hoping to be this close to Charles again. Only an hour earlier he wouldn’t have thought it possible, and now—now they’re—now he’s—

“Charles…” 

Erik’s soft sigh is hardly audible, and yet Charles withdraws slightly to look up into Erik’s face, his blue eyes staring at Erik with all the warmth in the world. Erik’s heart is close to bursting at the sight. He takes a shaking breath, hardly able to comprehend how fucking  _ lucky _ he is to get this chance, only knowing that he’ll do anything not to fuck it up this time.

“I love you, Charles,” he whispers quietly. “I’ve missed you. So fucking much.” Why is it no longer hard to say these words? Why do they come so naturally all of a sudden?

Charles’ eyes light up even more as he smiles, then he pulls Erik even closer, both arms around Eriks waist now, burying his face into Erik’s shoulder.

“I’m such an idiot,” he whispers into the fabric. “I love you too, Erik. I’ve loved you since I first saw you take all the mocking and bullying without changing who you are. You’re the most amazing and brave person I’ve ever met, and if I can only get the chance to...to be myself too—with you—I’ll be the happiest man in the world.”

Erik grabs Charles’ shorter, muscular body more tightly. There are tears in his eyes now too. It’s all he wants in the world. If only Charles knew just  _ how much _ he wants this.

“I’d love that,” is all he manages to croak.

Then Charles’ face is back, and his lips, and this time they’re more demanding, more confident, more eager, and Erik is swept away by it at once, taking a tiny step forward, desperate to be even closer to the one person he missed  _ so much— _

Charles’ knees hit the edge of Erik’s bed and the both tumble onto it, Erik on top of Charles. They break apart, staring at each other, both taken by surprise. And then Charles starts to laugh, and Erik can’t help but laugh with him. Charles’ laugh is just too contagious, and it’s like music to Erik’s ears. 

He hadn’t thought he’d ever hear it again.

The thought suddenly makes Erik’s chest constrict painfully. He’s happy,  _ so fucking happy, _ but the idea of what he’d almost lost makes the tears well up inside him.

How could he have ever lived with the idea of never seeing Charles again?

Erik leans down to press his lips to Charles’ again, and thankfully—because he so desperately needs it right now—Charles kisses him right back, pulls him close, holds on to him as though never wanting to let go again. 

This time they don’t stop. This time they hold on to each other, kissing, caressing, pulling off each other’s clothes, not in a hurried way, but determined, hands and lips everywhere, until they’re both naked, lying next to each other, tender fingers running over pale skin. Erik can still hardly believe what’s happening, that this really is  _ Charles _ in his arm, that those are  _ Charles’ _ hands on his hip and back,  _ Charles’ _ lips on his, and that it’s really  _ Charles’ _ soft skin under his fingertips.

When they finally break apart again for a moment, and Charles speaks, his voice is quivering, his breathing shaky.

“Have you got condoms and stuff?”

It takes Erik a moment to process his question. “No, I...no.” It’s not as though he expected Charles to turn up, and he definitely didn’t have any plans to have sex with anyone else.

“Damn…” Charles sighs. “My bag…”

“Where is it?”

Charles curses. “In the living room. With your mum.”

For a moment they both fall silent, and the (definitely turned-up) sound of the television seeps into Erik’s consciousness for the first time. Edie’s still up, still watching television, still (half-)pretending she doesn’t know what’s going on. Nevertheless Erik’s ready to get up and sneak in there. He wouldn’t even mind the smug looks. He’s ready, he’s definitely ready to give Charles everything he has, to hand over control, make himself vulnerable. All of a sudden, ever since Charles spoke, it’s almost all Erik can think about, he wants it  _ so much. _

Charles however, holds him back. “Don’t go now. Please. Stay.” He kisses Erik softly on the lips.

Erik half-wants to protest, but Charles doesn’t let go.

“Erik, we have all the time in the world. It doesn’t matter. There are other ways. Don’t go now.”

For a tiny second, all the questions rise in Erik’s mind again. Do they really have all the time in the world? What’s going to happen? What are Charles’ plans? What about his parents? Are they really, finally, free?

But then Charles kisses him again, his fingers trailing down Erik’s stomach, and Erik doesn’t care any longer, at least for the moment. When Charles’ tender but strong fingers wrap around his cock, Erik doesn’t really think anything anymore.

As he quivers and moans into Charles’ mouth, his arms wrapped tightly around Charles’ back, feeling Charles’ hand move between them, there’s only one thought on his mind, one name.

_ Charles. _


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works)!

Erik has no idea for how long they just lie in bed, holding on to each other, breathing in one another, not speaking at all, content to just be closer than they’ve been in a long time. Maybe ever.

At some point the noise of the television dies away and the sound of Erik’s mother clattering in the bathroom next door can be heard, then it’s completely silent.

Parts of Erik’s mind are still whirling, a jumble of happiness, excitement, and incredulity making him feel light-headed and slightly dizzy. All he can do is card his fingers through Charles’ hair, still hardly able to believe that it’s  _ Charles _ lying in his arms, constantly needing to touch some part of him to make sure that it’s still true.

There are still tons of questions on Erik’s mind too, and a desire to fill the blanks in his mind, but he’s not sure whether Charles is asleep or not —he hasn’t moved in more than an hour— and Erik definitely doesn’t want to wake him. 

Erik’s just closed his eyes, resigned to the fact that he’ll have to wait until morning to talk to Charles again, and determined to try and get some sleep, even though he doesn’t feel tired in the slightest, when Charles stirs in his arms and turns a sleepy-looking face towards him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I must’ve dozed off.”

Erik presses a soft kiss to his forehead. “It’s alright. Go back to sleep. You must be jet-lagged.”

Charles chuckles sleepily. “I guess. But for me it’s actually just late afternoon right now. Though, to be fair, I missed last night.” He yawns. “Aren’t you tired?”

“Not really,” Erik admits. “Too much on my mind.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” Charles says with a small and still rather sleepy smile. He rolls onto his side and props his head up on his elbow. “Tell me. Or ask me. Anything.”

Erik hesitates for a moment, mostly because he’s still not sure where to start.

He settles on “How did you know where I live?”, though it’s not nearly the most pressing question on his mind.

Charles chuckles. “There’s such a thing as the internet, you know.” But then he suddenly blushes, looking a little embarrassed. “I know —once I’d found out your landline number I should have called, but...I don’t know. It scared me. I think I was too afraid I wouldn’t know what to say to you after all those weeks, especially if I couldn’t see your face.”

“But you came,” Erik says quietly. It’s all that matters in the end, isn’t it?

“I did.” Charles smiles timidly. “As soon as I could. And I’m just glad you still want me.”

Erik lifts himself up to press a soft kiss to Charles’ lips, before he sinks back into his pillow. “I do. I never stopped.” He trails a finger down Charles’ shoulder. “What changed though?” 

“‘Changed’?” Charles asks, a crease between his brows.

_ “How _ did you do it? Did they let you go? Did you run?”

Charles looks thoughtful for a moment. “It’s a bit of a story,” he says then, a crooked smile on his lips. “Do you want to hear it?”

Erik nods. He wants to hear this. It doesn’t fucking matter if it takes several days. He wants to know  _ everything. _

Charles smiles at him, the same warm smile that Erik’s seen directed at him so many times all those weeks ago. It’s the most beautiful thing in the whole world.

“After I left, my parents took me back to the U.S.” he begins. “They watched my every move. I tried to get away a few times, but they wouldn’t let me. I basically studied all day, there was nothing else to do, and I didn’t have my phone. They sent me back to England for a few days—to some other school—for my exams, and after that I had to go back to Westchester.”

Charles licks his lips, looking troubled.

“I considered running while I was in England, just getting on a coach and travelling to Bournemouth to see you, but I couldn’t. They had people there to watch me and make sure I didn’t.”

Erik opens his mouth to speak, outraged, but Charles just shakes his head and continues.

“Right after my last exam they put me on a plane back to New York. I didn’t want to go, but I had no choice, and I knew that you’d soon be gone from St. John’s anyway.” 

Charles takes a shaking breath. 

“At that point I almost thought everything was lost. I had no idea how to get away from them. I—” There’s a painful look on Charles’ face. “I don’t know whether you can understand this, but I knew I was completely at their mercy. I knew that if I ran away, they’d disinherit me and make sure I’d never get a chance to gain a foothold anywhere. They’ve got much more power than you can imagine. It wouldn’t just have been that I had no money, but they’d have made my life hell. I knew that, and it was what held me back from just running away. The only thing that kept me going was the memory of you running after the car, of everything you’d said. I couldn’t give up on you, I just couldn’t. And I could only hope that you really meant it, and that you wouldn’t let me go either.”

Erik’s ready to speak again at that point, but Charles, again, shakes his head slightly, the warm smile on his lips once more, and so Erik still keeps quiet, listening intently.

“I held on to that, but I didn’t have much hope. I was grasping at  straws, trying to stay positive, just desperately hoping for something to happen, something to change, though I didn’t know what that could be. And then it did.” Charles’ smile grows wider. “Then something happened that I hadn’t counted on.”

Erik can’t help himself. “What was it?” he blurts out.

Charles laughs. “Well, I got into Oxford.”

“Oh....um...congratulations,” Erik says. It’s not exactly a surprise, but he’s not entirely sure how it could solve everything. Charles would still be dependent on his parents after all.

“Thanks,” Charles chuckles. “I’d kind of hoped that would mean I’d get the chance to go and see you again, though I wasn’t kidding myself that it would solve all our problems. Everything would have still had to remain a secret, and I doubted very much that you’d want that. But at least I thought I’d see you again, talk to you, explain.” Charles takes a deep breath, still smiling. “Then my father’s lawyer turned up.”

“Your  _ father’s...?” _

“Yeah,” Charles says, positively beaming now. “He told me that my father put up a trust fund for me before he died. I never knew this, but my mother did, though she had no idea what its preconditions were.”

“Sorry,” Erik interrupts him. “But what’s a trust fund?”

“Oh, it’s basically an inheritance that I can only access under certain conditions—and apparently he couldn’t talk to me about it either, and my mother couldn’t know what the conditions were, which is lucky because otherwise she’d definitely have tried to stop me from fulfilling them.”

“What were the conditions?”

“That I’d get into university.” Charles grins at him.

ErIk’s still not quite sure whether he’s grasping everything that’s going on. “How would that help you get away from your parents though?”

Charles laughs a little embarrassedly. “Because I’m—well, I’m financially completely independent from them now. They can do and say whatever they want—I don’t need their approval anymore. So I just left.”

Erik just stares at him. “So, you’re—?”

“I’m filthy rich, yeah,” Charles says in a tone that’s probably meant to be cocky and cool, but his embarrassment is betrayed by the very prominent blush on his cheeks.

Erik’s not sure what to say to that. He’s stunned, happy that Charles can do what he wants now, thrilled at the idea of what this could  _ mean, _ but nevertheless he can’t quite grasp the whole concept. He’s never had any money after all.

“Will you come with me?” Charles asks quietly.

Erik tries to pull himself together. “Come with you?”

“To Oxford,” Charles explains, his cheeks still rather pink. “Your mother told me you haven’t decided what you want to do yet, so...do you want to come with me?”

It’s all a bit too much at once. Only a few hours earlier Erik thought he’d never see Charles again, that Charles would probably never  _ want _ to see him again, and now this...The amount of possibilities suddenly emerging out of nowhere are making his head spin a little, and his heart race.

“You don’t want to?” There’s obvious disappointment in Charles’ voice.

“I’m not saying that!” Erik says quickly. “It’s just...holy shit, Charles, I’m...I honestly don’t even properly understand what’s happening right now. It’s a lot.”

Charles looks relieved at that, but also embarrassed. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Erik says. “I love that you’re...I love this. I want to be with you. I do. There’s nothing I want more. I just...I’m not in any state to make long-term decisions right now.”

Charles laughs softly. “Yeah, I get that. Sorry. I didn’t think. It’s been on my mind for days now, and I...I don’t know. It’s kept me going.”

Erik captures Charles’ lips in a kiss. The fact that Charles  _ wants _ him to come with him to Oxford, to live together, have a future together, after everything that happened between them makes his heart swell with emotion. He pulls Charles closer, wrapping his arms around the shorter man’s back, wanting to show him, reassure him, that they do indeed want the same thing.

Charles sighs quietly, cuddling up to Erik too, pressing a soft kiss to his naked chest, his hand trailing softly over Erik’s stomach. So close. Closer than Erik could ever have hoped.

It’s all Erik ever wanted, all he ever dreamt of, so why does his one last worry, the one that he’s successfully shut out for months—though it’s been nagging on his subconsciousness even longer—have to make itself known right now? Is it maybe just the desire to know exactly where he stands, to know that what they have is  _ real _ and  _ special? _

“Charles?” he hears himself ask tentatively.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course.” Another soft kiss to Erik’s chest.

“What really happened at your previous school? Was it—was it the  _ same _ as at St. John’s?”

A moment’s pause. 

“Yes, and no,” Charles then replies, his hand still caressing Erik’s stomach.

Erik’s heart skips a beat. “I mean—the boy with whom—were you...?” He can’t say it. The idea that Charles might have come to St. John’s with his heart broken, still in love with another boy, and that Erik might have been nothing more than a rebound fling, someone to help Charles forget, has been lurking in the back of Erik’s mind ever since they became a couple, though he did his best not to think about it too much. It’s not as though it would be the end of everything, but Erik nevertheless needs to know, to be sure that Charles saying  _ ‘you’re the best that ever happened to me’ _ weren’t just empty words.

Charles rolls over onto his stomach, laying half on top of Erik, fixing him with those blue eyes that Erik loves so much. “I was never in love with him,” he says softly, thankfully once again sensing exactly what’s on Erik’s mind. “We were more like...I don’t know. We weren’t even friends, we just played football together—which is quite ironic actually, considering the only reason my parents sent me to boarding school in England was so I could play football.” He chuckles. “Anyway, we were teammates, that’s all. Well...and horny teenagers, I guess.” he adds with a crooked smile. “There was never any—it was just sex,” Charles concludes, pressing another soft kiss to Erik’s chest.

Erik’s heart is beating fast. He wants to believe this, more than anything in the world. To know that they were special.  _ Are _ special. Because they’re not over after all, are they? There’s more to come, so much more.

“It was so very different when I met you,” Charles continues softly, stretching out his hand to gently stroke through Erik’s hair. “I was fascinated by you from the first moment I saw you. You were clever, honest, but most of all you were  _ real, _ unlike everyone else I’d ever met. Unlike myself,” he adds sadly. “I wanted you to like me  _ so much,  _ and when we actually became friends I wanted nothing more than for you to  _ love _ me, but I wasn’t going to risk our friendship. Being your friend, just being close to you in any way, meant the world to me. So I didn’t say anything.”

“And then I walked in on you in the shower,” Erik grins. It’s a good memory, one of his favourites.

“Yeah.” Charles laughs. “I was horrified at first. I thought I’d fucked it up for sure, but then—well. I don’t think I’ve ever been that high on adrenaline. What a night.”

“What a night indeed,” says Erik fondly, lifting his hand to Charles’ cheek and softly stroking over the soft skin.

Charles turns his head slightly to press a tender kiss to Erik’s fingers.

“I’m sorry I was a dick to you in the beginning,” says Erik suddenly. He’s never even thought about this after they became friends, but now he remembers all those times he said horribly rude things to Charles. “The truth is, I wanted you almost from the moment I first saw you, and I didn’t think I could have you, so...yeah. I was a fucking idiot,” he concludes, feeling a little ashamed of himself.

“We were both idiots,” Charles says with a crooked smile. “But we got there in the end, didn’t we?”

Erik chuckles. “Yeah, I guess. Charles?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Charles laughs happily. “I love you too, Erik. But you’ve already told me.”

“Yeah. But I just wanted to make absolutely sure that you know.”

Charles laughs again and leans down to capture Erik’s lips in another kiss. Erik wraps his arms more tightly around Charles’ body and kisses him back eagerly. Charles parts his lips, and their tongues meet, eager to touch each other. Charles cups Erik’s jaw with his hand.

It would be so easy to just get swept away by kisses and touches again, and get each other off the way that they’ve done dozens of times, but Erik’s got other plans.

He breaks the kiss and sits up, much to Charles’ displeasure.

Erik ignores his protests however, places a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s (oh, it feels so good to call him that) forehead, and jumps out of the bed. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Erik just remembers to pull on a pair of boxers before he slips into the corridor and hurries into the living room, where he spots Charles’ bag at once, lying on a chair. He grabs it and rushes back to his room, where Charles is sitting in bed, naked, leaning against the headboard, waiting for him, looking curious and more beautiful than ever.

Erik tosses the bag next to the bed, pulls off his boxers again, and climbs back on it, straddling Charles’ thighs without another word.

Charles’ mouth is slightly open, the tiniest smile in his lips, his breathing heavier than usual, his eyes full of wonder and unconcealed desire. 

Erik’s never seen anyone look so perfect.

He leans down to kiss Charles again, one hand on the back of his neck, Erik’s fingers digging into Charles’ soft and slightly-too-long hair, the other around Charles’ back, pulling him closer so Charles’ chest is pressed against Erik’s chest and stomach

They’re both hard already by the time their tongues touch, both panting and groaning as their cocks, trapped between their bodies, slide against one another with every movement of theirs. As Erik feels Charles’ hand wander down his stomach, he gently pushes it away again, taking both of Charles’ hands into each of his own and pinning them down onto the mattress, on either side of Charles’ hips. For that he has to break the kiss and slide his bottom down Charles’ leg a little, trailing kisses down Charles’ chest and stomach, but it’s what he’d planned to do anyway.

As Erik’s kisses reach the trail of dark hair leading further down, Charles moans unashamedly, and Erik suddenly thinks how lucky it is that his and his mother’s bedroom are not door-to-door. Only for a moment though, then his mind is occupied with other things. The quivering of Charles’ thighs, the light spasms of his hips, his erratic breathing, and the soft skin of his cock that Erik tentatively trails his lips along, barely touching it, but nevertheless making Charles gasp and twitch.

Unfortunately this is the point where Erik has to retreat somewhat to straighten up a notch, and—

Blushing a little, Erik looks up into Charles’ face. “I, um...I’ve never done this before. Do you mind if I...well...use a condom?” He very vividly remembers Charles swallowing his cock down without one, and he does want to give Charles that. At some point. But not now. One thing at a time.

“Oh, Erik,” Charles laughs softly, breathlessly. “Of course not. Whatever you want. And if you’re not ready—”

Erik shuts Charles up by putting a finger to his lips. “I am. I want this. You have no idea. And much more. But this, for now.”

Charles nods, smiling, panting, his eyes darker than usual. He leans over the side of the bed and pulls a condom out of his bag, which Erik takes with slightly trembling fingers.

Charles clearly notices this. “Do you want me to help you?” he asks, still panting slightly, his cheeks still flushed, his eyes still dark. Nevertheless still concerned about Erik’s nervousness.

“I’m alright.” Erik kisses him on the lips, then retreats back down between Charles’ legs, ripping open the package and carefully rolling the condom over Charles’ gorgeous twitching and rock hard cock. He’s eager to do this for Charles, quite apart from wanting to know what it feels like anyway. He’s loved the feel of Charles’ cock in his hand. What’s it going to feel like in his mouth? 

One last thing he needs to make sure though.

“Charles, I’m...I might be rubbish at this.”

Charles chuckles breathlessly. “You’re already doing amazing, love.”

Not only does Erik’s heart want to burst at Charles calling him ‘love’, he also feels reassured. When has Charles ever not liked anything he’s done sex-wise, when has he ever been too demanding or appeared dissatisfied? Yes, Charles is amazing at sex, but Erik is learning, and he’ll do everything to try and make Charles feel good. 

Copying what Charles did all those weeks ago, Erik tentatively licks along Charles’ length, making Charles’ legs twitch, and a tiny gasp escape his mouth. Emboldened, Erik twirls his tongue around the tip. The resulting quiver and moan makes Erik’s own cock throb eagerly too.

Erik doesn’t tease Charles for too long, far too eager to finally get his cock in his mouth, feel the firmness, the thickness, the tiny twitches on his tongue and cheeks. When he does swallow him down, Charles gasps again, loudly, deliciously, and Erik can’t help rubbing his own firm cock slightly against Charles’ leg.

It’s fucking amazing, how he can feel every little twitch, every spasm of arousal coming from Charles so damn intensely, how he,  _ Erik, _ is able to make Charles grab the sheets like that, make him groan, pant Erik’s name, and his legs twitch under Erik’s.

Erik can feel Charles’ orgasm coming before it’s there, not only because his breathing gets even more erratic, his moans quieter and more choked, but because his cock fills up even more in Erik’s mouth. It feels fucking amazing to know that  _ Erik’s causing this. _ When Charles’ cock finally twitches more violently than ever, and Charles grabs Erik’s shoulder for support, Erik keeps it in his mouth for a few more seconds before he retreats carefully, his own cock throbbing almost painfully now, demanding to finally be touched.

Too turned on to wait for Charles, spent and droopy for the moment, to come to his aid, Erik straightens up, wraps a hand around his own cock and works it furiously, moaning, gasping and quivering just like Charles, dimly aware of Charles watching him, mesmerised, his mouth gaping. He comes ridiculously quickly, covering the blanket between Charles’ legs with semen, and collapsing onto his boyfriend. Breathing heavily and still shaking, Erik wraps his arms around Charles’ waist, burying his face into the shorter man’s belly.

This has to be the best place in the world, all warm and snug, with the smell of sex in the air, and the slowly calming rhythm of Charles’ heart in his ear. And  _ Charles _ close. Charles, whose fingers card gently through Erik’s hair. Charles, who _ loves _ him. What else does he need?

“Charles?” Erik whispers as his breathing has calmed down somewhat.

“Yes, Erik?”

“I want to come with you. To Oxford.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Seven years later**

 

Waking Charles up is a hard task. Like, really bloody hard. Because Charles sleeps so soundly that he’d probably sleep through a scale 9 earthquake.

Luckily Erik knows by now that the one thing that helps is freshly-brewed tea right under Charles’ nose.

“Hmmm...morning,” Charles mumbles, his eyes barely open, but a tiny smile already on his lips.

“Morning, Schatz,” Erik replies, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his boyfriend’s nose.

He’s actually quite surprised Charles is talking at all before he’s even had a sip of tea. Normally he’ll just grunt.

“You know why I’m waking you?” Erik asks, setting the mug down on the bedside cabinet next to Charles’ side of the bed.

Charles grunts. Well, everything else would have been truly extraordinary.

“You asked me to wake you,” Erik goes on. “It’s your special day.”

The next grunt is more like a groan. And it, too, was expected.

Erik gently strokes a strand of hair out of Charles’ face. “You’ll be fine,” he says softly. “It’ll all be over after tonight, and then you can do what you love for the rest of your life.”

Charles takes Erik’s hand in his own and nuzzles his face in it with a soft sigh. “I want it over now,” he mumbles.

 

Erik, too, will be more than glad when this evening is finally over. Charles has been nervous, bordering on panicky for about a week now, and these days Charles is rarely nervous. So Erik basically spent all week hovering between trying to distract Charles in various ways, and listening to his presentation over and over again, afterwards reassuring him that it’ll be great, trying to kiss and cuddle the nervousness away.

Alright, maybe he’ll miss that part.

It’s interesting that Charles would feel so nervous in the first place. Over the last years he’s given presentations hundreds of times, first as a student, then as a tutor, a teaching assistant,...It always came naturally to him. He even enjoyed it. He’s truly born to be a teacher, and he’ll definitely make a fantastic professor, that much is clear.

Still, there’s something about this presentation, the big one, his inaugural lecture, that just makes it a lot scarier.

Even though Charles has become much more relaxed about other people’s perception of him over the last years (something that Erik’s incredibly proud of him for) sometimes the old fear starts to shine through again, especially when it concerns people whose opinions Charles values a lot —and the room tonight will be filled to the brim with those kinds of people.

It starts with the question of what he’s going to wear. They went through a whole week of trying on different outfits, of “Tie or no tie?”, of nervous almost-breakdowns at the thought of being over or underdressed until Charles finally settled on a suit that’s somewhere between casual and smart. A suit, which—by the way—looks so fucking great on him that Erik will definitely have trouble looking at anything or anyone other than his gorgeous boyfriend all evening. When Charles first tried it on, Erik’s immediate thought was that he would marry him in this suit right now if he could. Though, to be fair, Erik would marry Charles wearing a bathrobe or his most worn-out sweatpants if Charles said yes. Or naked. That would be great actually.

But that’s a completely different subject. And not one that Erik needs to think about right now. He’ll get to that once this evening is over.

The thing is that, at 25, Charles is the youngest person ever to become an Oxford professor, which is basically his childhood dream coming true. Charles is incredibly proud of this, as is Erik, and of course Edie and Raven, but nevertheless it has made him feel insecure too. There will be much more experienced scientists, much older people, working under him, and he’ll make decisions and shape the university’s research in one way or another, not to mention being responsible for a whole lot of students—quite a few of them older than him—and coming up with lecture plans that will shape their scientific future. Charles loves to teach, it’s what he always wanted to do, but Erik can tell that the prospect of all of that is making him afraid of not being taken seriously because of his young age. And right at this moment it seems as though everyone’s perception of Charles will depend on his very first lecture, his inaugural lecture this evening, attended not only by all his future colleagues, the university administration, and a whole bunch of students, but also by the press, who have promised to write quite a large piece on the special event. The press’s interest is probably the reason why this whole thing got as big as it is. It’s not normal for the university to have this big of an event simply for a new professor, but Charles being so young and brilliant (and good-looking, though Charles vehemently denies that that’s got anything to do with) there’s been an extraordinary amount of interest coming from the press and the general public at his appointment. Understandably this makes the whole thing even more frightening.

It’s quite the big deal, and even though Erik knows that Charles is very experienced at giving presentations, he can’t help feeling nervous with Charles, suffering with him a little, and longing for the evening to be over.

Nevertheless, even though all the nervousness is understandable, Erik is still taken aback by  _ just how _ nervous Charles is. To the point that he’s barely eaten anything all week. It’s quite alarming, and Erik will definitely have to do something if nothing changes after tonight. But right now he just needs to focus on keeping Charles distracted as much as he can to get him through the day.

Luckily there are tons of other things to deal with over the day. The arrival of Erik’s mother for instance, with a cab driver in tow who’s carrying a suitcase so large it looks as though she’s planning to move in for good this time. Not that Charles would be opposed to that.

“Erik, mein Schatz!” she exclaims as she sees him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug that squeezes all the air out of his lungs, but he’d expected that. 

And he secretly likes it.

“Mama, it’s great to see you.” He kisses her on the cheek. “And I’ll take that, thanks a lot,” he adds to the driver, relieving him of the large suitcase. The man hurries away rather quickly after he’s paid. Erik can’t suppress a smirk at the idea of his mother having gushed to him all drive about her clever son-in-law’s (though Charles isn’t technically her son-in-law...yet) exciting inaugural lecture and the accompanying fancy event she’s invited to. And it’s a rather long drive from Heathrow to Oxford.

“Charles is still in the shower, but he knows you’re here, and he’ll be down here in a second,” Erik explains as they walk into the living room, where he puts her heavy suitcase down and she looks curiously around. 

A lot has changed since she last visited them a few months ago.

“No, he should take all the time he needs, there’s no hurry.” She beams at him. “Oh, all that gorgeous furniture, Erik. Did you make all of it?”

“Hmm,” Erik confirms, not sure what else to say, his cheeks blushing pink. 

He’s never been entirely comfortable with being praised for anything, though he’s happy that she likes it, and even more so that Charles does (and, boy, does Charles  _ love _ Erik’s work). Working with wood was the only thing Erik ever felt he really wanted to do ever since he left school, and he was never sure whether he should even consider it as a career, particularly since being a carpenter didn’t pay too well and Charles brought all this money into their relationship, buying the house and everything they needed. However, it was Charles who ultimately convinced him to do it after all, and it definitely wasn’t a mistake. Money’s not really a thing they have to worry about, but his work allows Erik to give back in a way that no other job ever could. By now he’s replaced their dining table and all the chairs, their bed, wardrobe, Charles’ desk, and the entire kitchen, making this house feel more and more like home with every piece he adds.

Not that it hadn’t felt like home before. Everywhere he can be with Charles feels like home.

 

They spend a surprisingly relaxed day together, just sitting around the dining table, talking and laughing. Erik’s relieved when Charles eats some of Edie’s home-made biscuits—seeing Charles eat anything at all somewhat eases Erik’s fear of Charles collapsing before the day is over. Though he still definitely speaks less and grips his cup of tea more tightly than usual.

“Oh dear, he’s really nervous, isn’t he?” Edie asks in German when Charles has disappeared into the kitchen to make some more tea.

Erik sighs. “It’s been a tough week for him.”

His mother nods slowly, as though lost in thought. “Have you bought a ring yet?” she then suddenly asks out of nowhere, raising her eyebrows.

Erik can only stare at her.

“It’s about time, you know,” she adds, looking almost accusingly at him. 

Before Erik can properly retort Charles reappears, carrying a steaming teapot, and all Erik can do is frown at his mother who smiles brightly back at him.

Shit. She can truly read him like a book. And he wanted this to be a surprise for everyone, including her, once he’s ready to do it.

 

Raven arrives only shortly before they all have to leave, which is perhaps lucky since she usually manages to get Charles irritable and worked up about one thing or another within minutes, even when he’s actually been in a good and relaxed mood beforehand. 

On their way to the venue she prattles on about college and her friends, poking Erik and Charles in the sides and squealing in excitement at the fancy banquet later, and Erik catches himself thinking that, however much he likes Raven, he’s really quite glad she doesn’t live with them permanently anymore. She’s great really—funny and lively and enthusiastic, which is fantastic for a fun night out, but you rarely get a quiet moment with her around, and those quiet moments with Charles are the ones Erik loves most. And they’ve definitely had more of them since she left for college.

Luckily Charles’ lecture is among the very first items on the programme, just after a speech by the university director who emphasises how very honoured the university is to welcome such a brilliant and accomplished young scientist to their staff and how much they’re all looking forward to productive work in both teaching and research. By the time that he’s finished Charles’ ears are glowing bright red and he’s holding Erik’s hand so tightly that Erik can hardly feel his fingers anymore.

When Charles is called to the podium, Erik can only whisper another “Good luck. You’ll be brilliant” into his boyfriend’s ear, not sure whether he’s heard it at all, feeling terribly nervous now himself. The slides appear on the wall behind Charles and everyone’s eyes turn towards them, but Erik, who’s already seen the slides and heard the presentation a hundred times, keeps looking at Charles, maybe the only person in the room to notice the light quiver of Charles’ clenched fist.

The very first sentence Charles gets his tongue in a twist, blushes worse than ever, and falls quiet again. Erik can see him swallow, then glance nervously over at him.

_ ‘I love you,’ _ Erik mouths without thinking about it.

Charles smiles slightly, takes a deep breath and starts afresh, his voice shaking almost unnoticeably, but this time without spluttering. With every sentence his voice becomes stronger, his posture more upright, his speech more fluent, his hands less clenched. It only takes a few minutes for Charles to find his rhythm and his confidence, and to remember that this is, truly, what he was born to do.

Soon he jokes in between explaining things, making his audience laugh and perceptibly relax in their seats, once more the charming, charismatic young man that Erik’s seen him become when talking in front of an audience. And not only that. He draws everyone in, making them listen, not losing one person, keeping them all interested until the very end.

One thing is for sure. Charles will be a fucking great professor.

Of course after Charles’ lecture is over Erik barely gets to congratulate him and whisper in his ear how proud he is of him because everyone seems to want to have a word with the new professor. There’s practically a queue forming behind Erik of important people waiting to shake Charles’ hand—welcoming him, thanking him for his presentation, and discussing elements of it with him, and so Erik just quickly squeezes Charles’ hand and sidles to the side of the room, where he’s shortly joined by Raven and his mother.

Both Raven and Edie are very interested in watching all the people around them and discussing quietly who might be who and who’s going to be working with Charles.

Erik only has eyes for his boyfriend. He looks so in his element talking to all those people, accepting congratulations, answering questions and discussing his studies, it almost looks as though he’s glowing. Not to mention that he looks absolutely fucking fantastic. It’s hard to understand that there are people in this room at all who don’t feel the need to just look at Charles constantly. He just looks so damn beautiful.

When Edie and Raven leave to get drinks, Erik stays where he is, content to just lean against the wall and reflect on the whole evening so far. Everything that he’s seen, and everything that will be once it’s over.

It’s good, no, fucking great actually. Right now, Charles is occupied and doesn’t have a lot of time, but that’s fine. It was expected and they’ll have time to talk about everything later, and to just hold and kiss each other again. 

What matters most of all is that Charles’ lecture is over, it went fantastic, everyone apparently loved it, and Charles can now start his new job, the job of his dreams, relaxed and in pleasant anticipation. Plus, Raven and Edie are here. They’ll celebrate later, once Charles is free, and Erik will watch all stress and tension seep out of Charles, allowing him to smile widely and happily again. He’s missed Charles’ smile the last week—all the ones he got were rather feeble and strained. Now it seems as though a huge hurdle has been cleared, leaving the future open for things that Charles has always wanted. The future that  _ they’ve _ wanted for so long now. Together. This evening could not have gone better.

And then, suddenly, Erik spots the one person he never wanted to see again in his life, leaning casually against the wall a little down the room, watching Erik with a shadow of his old sneer on his face.

Sebastian Shaw.

All good spirits, all contentment and positivity seems to freeze inside Erik, replaced by old reawoken feelings of apprehension, humiliation and, most of all, cold fury.

What the  _ fuck _ is this bastard doing here tonight? How is it possible for him to even dare come close to him or Charles, let alone sneer at Erik like he used to?

It’s not as though he’s the first person Erik has met from St. John’s in Oxford. Plenty of Erik’s old schoolfellows have apparently decided to study at Oxford University, and they’ve crossed path in the city, nodding at each other in recognition, but never talking to one another. It didn’t matter. Most of them were geeks that Erik barely had anything to do with at school. He hasn’t met any of his worst bullies yet. Until now.

_ Shaw. _ Of all of them. And of all of the places they could have met it had to be here. Though, thinking about it, it kind of makes sense. Shaw’s always liked noble, glorious events. This is one of the biggest events the university will host all year. Of course the bastard couldn’t miss it.

Shaw raises his hand in what feels like a mock greeting as he notices Erik’s eyes on him. Erik doesn’t respond, still staring at Shaw, wishing that all the energy forming inside his brain right now could be directed at crushing Shaw against the wall in some way, wiping the sneer off of his face once and for all.

Shaw is apparently not discouraged by Erik’s lack of a greeting. He straightens up and walks closer, the sneer still in place, one hand casually in one of his trouser pockets.

He doesn’t look much different, though Erik’s pretty sure he himself hasn’t changed much either. They both look probably a little older, a little more defined. But Shaw’s hated, arrogant and derisive face is still the same. Still screaming to be smashed to pieces, though Erik knows that’s the last thing Charles would want him to do.

“Lehnsherr,” Shaw drawls. “What are you doing here?”

_ I fucking hate you. _

Erik’s face distorts into a grimace, not hiding the fact that he’s not happy in the slightest to meet his old enemy. There’s no reason to pretend he doesn’t hate Shaw with every fibre of his being. “I’m here for Charles. What’s your excuse?” He should probably be congratulated on how little his voice betrays his desire to kill the man on the spot.

Shaw nods, as though putting two and two together. “Oh yeah. You and Charles. I remember. My excuse? I was just interested in listening to the presentation.”

_ Like hell you were. You were hoping for this, I can tell. And you hadn’t forgotten either. Don’t pretend, you fucking dick. _

“Really?” Erik manages to press out through clenched teeth.

“Really,” Shaw responds, still sneering.

Shaw hasn’t said anything offensive yet. In fact, all this could count as (almost) polite smalltalk, but Erik knows better. Shaw is enjoying this, aware of the fact that he’s reminding Erik of all the humiliation, all the torment at school, without even having to mention it. Perhaps that’s even why he came. Perhaps he heard that Erik and Charles are still together. Perhaps he decided to turn up here in hope of stirring up some trouble, of seeing Erik suffer. It wouldn’t come as a surprise. He’s always been a fucking monster after all.

And the worst thing is, Erik still feels helpless at the sight of him. There are no laughing idiots behind Shaw, nobody Erik needs to be afraid of, Shaw hasn’t even said anything to hurt him, and yet Erik doesn’t know what to do or say. He knows he can’t punch Shaw, however much he wants to, and he can’t think of an appropriate response. He’s once more paralyzed by his emotions, the helplessness deeply engraved in his brain structure and reactivated just at the sight of his worst tormentor.

“Erik? Listen, I’m going to get—” Charles, who’s just appeared out of nowhere, stops dead mid-sentence as he recognises who Erik is talking to. “Oh.”

“Charles,” Shaw says with as much warmth as he can probably muster, stretching out his hand for Charles to shake, the sneer still there but barely. “It’s nice to see you. Great presentation.”

Erik can hear the blood pounding in his ears. Oh, Shaw is definitely loving this. Being friendly with Charles right in front of Erik, after everything that happened. It all seems like a friendly gesture, but it’s not. It’s a fucking demonstration of power. A reminder of their painful past. Another slap to Erik’s face. 

Charles blinks, glancing at the hand he’s being offered. Then he looks back up, right into Shaw’s eyes. “Yeah, I don’t really want to talk to you,” he says slowly, but clearly. “In fact, I’d prefer it if you just kindly fucked off, thanks a lot.”

And with that he demonstratively takes Erik’s hand in his own and turns around, pulling Erik with him and leaving Shaw looking like a fucking idiot, dumbstruck, his hand still outstretched.

It takes a few seconds for Erik to find his voice again.

“I love you,” he then blurts out as they’re striding through the room. It’s all he can think in this moment.

Charles chuckles and pulls at Erik’s hand, making him stumble into a short kiss. In the middle of the room, in plain sight of Shaw.

“I love you too,” Charles says after they’ve broken apart. There are pink patches on his cheeks, but he’s smiling. “And I won’t ever let that bastard get between us again. I promise.” He squeezes Erik’s hand.

No, this evening couldn’t be any more fucking perfect.

 

The one thing that makes Erik stop and wonder as they eat their way through the buffet and drink quite a bit of champagne is the fact that, even though Charles is clearly happy about the way his lecture and the evening went, he still seems kind of nervous.

He still doesn’t eat much for one, and he doesn’t talk much either, and Erik’s quite sure he can even still see him kneading his hands when he seems to think that nobody’s looking.

It’s quite strange, though maybe his nervousness was so strong that he can’t easily shake the feeling of it. Perhaps tomorrow it’ll all be over again.

Strangely though, Charles’ nervousness seems to intensify after they leave the venue and all get in a cab to drive them home. He sits pressed against Erik in the middle seat, his arms folded tightly, staring straight ahead out of the front window of the car, and hardly reacting when Erik pokes him in the side.

“Are you okay?” Erik asks quietly, so as to not let Raven hear.

“Hmm,” Charles nods, attempting to smile, but looking almost scared now.

_ What the hell? _

They all walk up the stairs to their front door together, and Erik fumbles for his keys to unlock it. Then Raven and Edie swarm inside, both apparently not tired in the slightest, and ready for another celebratory cup of tea and a talk right before bed. They walk into the living room, Raven and Edie first, then Erik, when Raven turns around to say something to Erik and suddenly fucking  _ screams  _ at the sight of something behind him.

Erik whips around in terror, almost falling over Charles who’s kneeling on the floor in front of him.

Hang on— _ kneeling? _

“Charles, what—?” Erik says weakly. He knows what this is really. He does. He’s not stupid, but right now the truth seems to have trouble penetrating his mind.

“Erik,” says Charles quietly, his voice shaking a little once more. “I met you eight years ago, and I fell in love with you not long after. I wasn’t always what you deserved, but you were always what I needed. You make me happier than I could have ever hoped to be, and you helped me become the person that I am now. Someone I never thought I could be. I love you, and I want to be with you. And so I just need to ask you...will you marry me?” And he extracts a tiny dark box from his chest pocket and opens it to reveal a silver ring.

Sometimes things happen that you didn’t expect, and sometimes your brain allows you to adapt to this situation quickly enough to respond in an appropriate manner. Like, simply say yes, in this case. And sometimes it doesn’t, because your brain’s a fucking mess.

“But...I wanted to do this. I had it all planned, and…”

Raven snorts. “Well done, Erik. Way to ruin a moment.”

Edie sobs quietly behind him. 

Charles blushes, still kneeling in front of him, holding the ring, looking torn between embarrassment and amusement. “Say something,” he mumbles in a rather pleading tone.

And suddenly it all falls into place. “Shit. Yes, of course,” Erik splutters, taking Charles’ hands and pulling him up into a kiss and a tight embrace.

Perhaps it wasn’t the perfect, movie-like response, but nevertheless Charles kisses him back eagerly, and, for the first time in a week, Erik can feel him properly relax in his arms. The realisation of what actually made Charles so nervous all week, makes Erik’s knees go a little weak, and makes him grasp his boyfriend—no, his  _ fiancé _ —even more tightly, whispering “I love you” in his ear.

What an evening.

 

As they climb into bed about two hours later, having celebrated their engagement with more champagne and biscuits and loud music chosen by Raven, they’re both still too full of energy to sleep. And so a soft kiss soon turns into more, into touches, into ripping off their pyjamas again, until they both lie there naked, panting, Charles half on top of Erik, exchanging heated kisses, their hands travelling hungrily over each other’s bodies, both drunk on each other’s love.

“Fuck me,” Erik hears himself gasp. “Please.”

Charles lifts his head from where he’d been kissing along Erik’s collarbone, panting, his pupils blown large, his lips so fucking red, wearing a small smile. “With your mum next door?”

“I don’t care,” Erik moans, pulling him back into a heated kiss. “Please.”

“Of course, darling,” Charles gasps against his lips. “Anything you want.” And he continues his trail of kisses down Erik’s torso.

What a fucking perfect night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank my wonderful beta [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/pseuds/FuryRed/works) again for all her hard work. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Also another biiig thanks to the lovely [avictoriangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avictoriangirl/pseuds/avictoriangirl/works) for her amazing [cover art!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12963765)
> 
> I hope you guys liked it. :) I'm equally proud and happy, and sad that it's over.
> 
> Stay tuned for a new fic coming very soon!


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